The Emperor
by klienkire45
Summary: A dungeons and dragon player gets send to the dnd world as a king
1. chapter 1

_**Author's Note:**_ _It ain't my game, just my story._

* * *

Someone smashed me in the head with a big fractal brick.

Suddenly, I wasn't standing munching a tasty croissant at my favorite bakery anymore. I was falling...about a foot, to land flat on my back on a deep pile of cushions.

As I hit, someone poured half a gallon of LSD into my eyeballs. The sound of red and the color of salty exploded in my brain; words I'd never heard slammed through my ears and beat Broca and Wernicke to a bleeding pulp. Pages of non-existent books and maps and clay tablets and scrolls spun past too fast to see. Horrific monsters, all teeth and claws and wings and talons and spikes, sprang at me from all directions, passed through me and fought one another amidst terrifying roars.

After an eon or six, it stopped.

Blinking, I looked around to see what had happened. Then I blinked some more and rubbed my eyes. Nope, still there—not just a hallucination. I really was in a chilly stone room, the floor around me really did have a giant pentacle engraved into it, and there really were runes inscribed all over the walls, floor, and ceiling. The whole place looked like it should be on the cover of a Black Sabbath album.

As long as we were counting 'really's, I really wasn't alone in this vaguely creepy piece of album art. I was surrounded by three old bearded guys in silk bathrobes, and behind them were half a dozen very scary-looking men in honest-to-god chainmail, with a sword in each hand, eyes fixed on the men in bathrobes.

"Welcome, My Lord," said the old guy with the longest beard. He managed to fit more pomposity into three words than appeared in an average high school valedictorian speech. "You are in no danger, and we are at your service. I am sure you have many questions, and we will be delighted to answer them for you. We have provided a variety of food and drinks if you would like a meal." He gestured behind me; I turned to see a narrow wooden credenza looking very out of place against the rear wall; it was piled high with the sort of spread you typically only see at really fancy weddings.

I was nauseous, my head hurt like it was under a piledriver, and I was so exhausted my brain felt like a fogbank.

 _~Dehydration headache and hunger~_ I realized dimly, knowing the signs from plenty of days when I was lost in a project and I forgot to eat. Moving was the last thing I wanted to do, but I dragged myself over to the credenza, mechanically chewed a few grapes, and forced myself to swallow. Instantly, the nausea converted to hunger and I started gobbling down bread, cheese, and fruit. After multiple large handfuls I grabbed a pint mug of water, slammed it back, refilled it from the pitcher, slammed that, and drank a third a bit more slowly.

As always after a refueling session like that, the headache dimmed to a bearable level and I knew it would be gone in a few minutes. The hunger was gone but I felt unpleasantly bloated, like someone had force-fed me with a tube. _~Too much, too fast~_ I admitted to myself, exactly like I always did. Vowed not to do it again, exactly like I always did. Knew that I would, exactly like I always did. On the upside, my brain was working again.

I hadn't noticed their approach, but there were two of the chainmail types standing by me, one on either side, facing out with blades in hand and staring at the bathrobe-clad oldsters with a look much like that of a tiger who was pretty sure he was going to eat you in a moment but hadn't _quite_ decided. The other four were behind and beside the bathrobe brigade with exactly the same look. A blinking neon sign over their heads saying "paranoid elite bodyguard" would have been completely superfluous.

What the hell?

The three bathrobed gentlemen were looking at me, but waiting patiently for me to get my bearings. The swordsmen were still standing right behind them, staring at Long-beard and friends, swords in hand.

"Ok, what is going on? Where am I, and why am I here?"

The central bathrobe guy ( _~aww, hell, just admit it, he's a wizard~_ ) smiled, bowed very slightly, and said "You are in the castle at the center of Capital City, the first and largest city in the Kingdom of Flobovia, on a Prime Material Plane parallel to your own. I and my fellow Archmagi"—he gestured at the two others standing beside him—"have summoned you across the Void to be the absolute ruler of our nation for the next two years. Your rule is, I regret, compulsory, but at the end of the two years, you will be laden with riches and our deepest thanks, and then released."

I blinked at him, then asked about the single most crucial point. "Flobovia?"

He looked a bit embarrassed. "Yes, well, it is a rather silly name...the ruler ten years ago was named Flob Arten—quite a common name on his plane, I gather—and he changed the name of the nation. No ruler since then has cared to change it back, and no one else has the authority to do so."

"So...basically, the kingdom is named something like 'Bobville'," I stated, unbelieving.

One of the other wizards chuckled. "Hazards of an absolute dictator, I'm afraid. In general, the system works very well; we get a constant supply of new ideas, new technologies, new ways of doing things, and an overlord with the power to see them put into effect quickly. The terms of the Summoning ritual prevent us from getting anyone deranged or brain damaged, but we do occasionally get rulers who are foolish, stupid, or unkind."

I frowned in puzzlement. "When you get someone like that, why don't you just send them home and try again?"

The bodyguard furthest from me answered without ever taking his eyes off the wizard whom he was clearly ready to puree. "Because the Landguard would kill anyone who tried. The ruler holds power for two full turning of the seasons. So it is writ."

I digested that. "So, a bunch of wizards kidnapped a perfectly ordinary guy off the street, brought him to Bobville—excuse me, 'Flobovia'—to be their absolute ruler, to shower with jewels and power and obey his every whim, and he has a bunch of super-lethal bodyguards fanatically dedicated to him from the moment he shows up despite the fact that they know absolutely nothing about him and he could be a complete fool."

Long-beard looked a bit embarrassed. "Well, um...yes?"

"And Capital City is the capital city of the nation?"

Long-beard was now red as a tomato. "Um...yes?"

I just nodded, still in a bit of shock. "You realize this sounds like the plot to a really hackneyed piece of fanfic, right? Likely some sort of self-insert Mary Sue crap. Do you have Rainbow Dash, Twilight Sparkle, and the other My Little Ponies down in the royal stable?"

Even the bodyguards looked at me in bewilderment.

The wizard who had chuckled before spoke slowly. "I'm...afraid I don't know how to get you a dash of rainbows, My Lord, but we'd be happy to find you some ponies if that's acceptable. If you don't mind a suggestion, though—perhaps you'd like to relocate to a more comfortable location for the rest of this conversation? The Work Room is excellent for rituals, but remarkably lacking in chairs." His lips quirked in humor at the last, and I decided I liked this guy.

I shrugged bewildered acceptance and gestured towards the door. "After you."

As the wizards turned away, the Landguard troopers relaxed very slightly. It suddenly hit me that they had been expecting me to be angry and order the deaths of my summoners...and that they would have done it. I resolved to be very, very careful about what I said and did; I didn't want some poor chambermaid getting massacred just because she startled me in the shower.

 _~Do they even have showers here?~_ I wondered idly as I followed the Archmagi down the hall.

* * *

 _ **Author's note, supplemental:**_ _I've started writing spinoff stories as a way to make some pin money; if you're curious, head on over to: GreenDogPress._

 _The first item is a novelette entitled "One Hot Night"; it's on sale for $1. (Like all spinoff stories I write, it IS considered canon in the 2YE-verse, but it does NOT use any copyrighted material, meaning that it's legal for me to sell.)_

 _2YE itself will always be free and I have no intention of stopping until the story is done, regardless of how many sales of spinoff work I do or don't get._


	2. chapter two

By the time we got to the sitting room, I had been introduced to Thomas, commander of the Landguard, and all of his subordinates. The names of the junior 'Guards went in one ear and out the other; there were just too many names too fast to keep track of. I think one of them was Bob, but for all I knew it could have been Loraanthalakalodaladarin—what the heck, it was a world with magi, right? Why were these people named Thomas and Bob, anyway?

I had made a special effort to remember the names of the Archmagi, repeating them over and over to myself as we walked. Isaac, Reynard, Matthew. Isaac, Reynard, Matthew. Isaac had the long beard, Reynard was the funny one, Matthew was the quiet one. Isaac, beardy. Reynard, funny, Matthew, quiet. Isaac, Reynard, Matthew. I had the names pretty well down by the time we arrived at the sitting room, where we relaxed in overstuffed armchairs and sipped tea from fine china in front of a toasty fire. (Of course the six Landguard insisted on standing, but at least they had sheathed their swords.) I had also figured out the obvious question.

"Ok, so, where's the invading army coming from?"

All three Archmagi looked flabbergasted. "How could you possibly—" Reynard began.

I cut him off. "I read a lot of science fiction and fantasy. Coramonde, Erfworld, Thomas Convenant, Wizard in Rhyme, Wizard's Bane—the only reason modern-world people are ever sucked into a fantasy world is because there's some Big Bad coming, and it's usually an army."

They just stared at me like utterly boggled deer in very bright headlights. Then stared at each other in bogglement. Then stared at me, still boggled.

"Ahem," said Isaac, looking vaguely embarrassed yet again. "Well, actually, yes, there is an armed force invading from the south. A rather large one, actually. Nearly comparable to that of Emperor Charles the Great, the overlord of lower Tarisia. Tarisia, of course, is our neighbor to the east and four hundred years ago—"

I broke in, nodding assuredly. "These invaders—enormous horde of vicious barbarians, right? Looting, pillaging, burning everything to the ground, lamentations of their women kind of folks?"

"Oh no," said Isaac, happy to be able to pontificate again. "As I was saying, much like the army of Emperor Charles; extremely professional and well-led soldiers with plenty of powerful magic users in support—far more than we have, actually, especially the higher level magi. They seem to have made some impressive advances in the fields of both Abjuration and Conjuration, as evidenced by their use of wide-area shielding and various kinds of missile strikes and conjured creatures. I have a theory on that, actually—"

Thomas cleared his throat pointedly and Isaac wound down, looking startled.

"In a more military sense, My Lord" said Thomas, picking up the thread of the answer, "the enemy is moving quickly, zigzagging across the nation to conquer all of our towns and cities. They actually treat their conquered people quite well as long as a city or town submits. They set up a local satrapy but rule lightly from what we can discover. Two cities, Oxport and Tor Cannle, refused to surrender, and the Deorsi eradicated them. Literally eradicated—they conquered the cities, killed every living thing right down to the dogs and cats, burned the place to the ground, and finally pulled the wreckage apart so that not a trace of any structure remained except the foundations. It was brilliant; after that example, all the other cities and towns are surrendering."

I groaned. "Fantastic. Mongol tactics; utterly destroy anyone who opposes you and treat cooperative people well. And the Mongols ended up ruling most of a continent. They probably end up causing fewer deaths this way, actually." I sighed gloomily. "Your population base is going to desert in droves."

Once again, Thomas cleared his throat. " _Your_ population now, My Lord."

I glared at him but my glare bounced off like a Gummy Bear hitting a brick wall. "Look, I can't do this job. I'm a web programmer, not a ruler. I don't know the first thing about leading an army, or running a country. Shoot, I don't even balance my checkbook, and you want me to help run the economy of your nation? Why in the _world_ would you want me?"

He fixed me with a Look and replied, "The spell chose you to be the ruler, so you are the ruler. You serve for two full turnings of the seasons, then you are rewarded and released. So it is writ. And so it _will be_ , My Lord." Throughout this oh-so-subtly-threatening speech, his voice remained calm, even, and without even a trace of a hint of a possibility that he could be moved. Reminded me of the Terminator, actually. Only less cuddly.

Which suddenly raised a flag in my head. _~Come on Jake, you're supposed to be genre savvy~_ I thought, angry with myself for missing the obvious. And I had a feeling that this might not want to be a public conversation.

"Everyone, could you give us the room for a moment? Thomas, you stay."

The Archmagi frowned at being dismissed so cavalierly, but they went. The Landguard all looked at Thomas; he gave them a small nod and they relucantly drifted out the door with many a disgruntled look back.

"Sit down." I said firmly, pointing at the chair opposite me. He sat down smoothly, face impassive.

"Let's get specific. What _exactly_ are the terms of the Landguard's service?"

He raised an eyebrow but answered readily enough. "We serve the Land, the Law, and the ruler in whatever capacity is required. The Land refers to the common citizens and the Law is the set of documents that define the core structure of the nation. Our primary duty is as a bodyguard to the ruler, but we also provide oversight for the justiciars in the outlying towns and villages and help the people against large scale problems—floods, drought, crop failures, and so on. Very occasionally we are given unusual duties, such as when Othar the Black was sent to negotiate a trade treaty with a neighboring kingdom. Although maybe that shouldn't count; it's a warrior culture and he was from one of their border towns."

I nodded and homed in on the key item. "You serve the Land, the Law, and the ruler— _in that order_ , right? So if I give you an order that goes against either the Land or the Law, you would ignore it?"

"Yes, My Lord."

I thought for a moment, phrasing the next question very carefully. "Hypothetically speaking, what would your response be if I took some action that was directly opposed to the Land or the Law?"

He didn't bat an eyelash. "Hypothetically speaking, I would warn you not to, and if you insisted I would kill you."

Yeah, that didn't send icy worms crawling down my spine at all. Nope, nope, nope. Just sitting in a chair and speaking politely this guy was hella scary.

I sat back for a moment and gathered my thoughts. Thomas waited patiently.

"Ok, well good, now I'm clear on that part of it. What are the limits of your service?"

He cocked his head slightly in confusion, looking just a bit like the RCA dog. "I'm afraid I don't understand the question, My Lord."

"Well, for example, if I gave you some stupid or frivolous order, would you do it? Like, if I said, 'hop on one foot for the rest of the day', would you actually do it?"

"Of course. Do you want me to?" He seemed baffled that I would even ask, and vaguely irritated that I might give such a demeaning order but at least he was trying to keep things polite.

"No. I'm just trying to understand your government and how I fit into it. All of these are just hypotheticals."

"Very well, My Lord."

This whole calm-and-accepting fanatical service thing was starting to really creep me out. I pushed those thoughts down and plowed on.

"What if—and again, this is just hypothetical, don't do it—I ordered you to kill yourself? Or another Landguard, or some important political figure in the government? Would the part about 'the Land' interfere?"

"If you gave me that order, I would kill myself, or that person. Neither the Landguard nor the members of government are commoners, so they are not part of the Land."

This was moving into outright slavery, and it was scaring the crap out of me. No one should be this insanely devoted to an oath.

I decided to raise the point. "Thomas...this is really scary, and not healthy. You shouldn't be this willing to die for no reason, just because some flake that got drafted from another dimension tells you to."

He shook his head, still stone cold. "Respectfully, My Lord, you are wrong. The Landguard is small, but we are the best trained soldiers in the nation, equipped with more and better magic items than anyone else, and we have significant, and permanent, magical enhancements laid on us when we take up service. We provide a major deterrant against rebellion by the nobles; it's been eight hundred years since there was a civil war in Flobovia." His lips quirked very slightly at the name. "If there were the slightest doubt that our oaths are not absolutely binding, the nobles and the merchants would gather their forces to defend themselves against us. We could easily trigger the very civil war we were created to prevent. "

I digested that for a moment and had to admit it made sense. I forced myself to get past the weird pseudo-slavery part and recognize the validity of the political reasons for it. I noticed myself feeling revolted by that and the act of noticing made me detached from those feelings. Then I noticed myself noticing and quickly forced my thoughts elsewhere before the recursion made my brain explode.

My head is a weird place, sometimes.

The important thing here was that Thomas The Scarily Honorable was much better at explaining things than Isaac The Long-Winded Pontificator. Thomas was also more likely to give me straight answers.

"And what about the Archmagi? What is their relationship to...whatever my office is?"

Thomas gave a tiny shrug. "There isn't one, really. All three are members of the Association of Magi, of course, but that's only so they can have access to the Capital City Library's magic section. And of course they have the duty of performing the Summoning that brings the ruler here every two years. Mostly because they're the only ones who can."

"So they aren't obligated to be honest with me or anything like that? They must have an axe to grind—what is it?"

He just looked at me as though I had suddenly put a rubber chicken on my head. "An axe to grind?"

 _~Note to self: whatever magic is doing the translating for me has trouble with idioms.~_ "An agenda, something they want."

He nodded, pursing his lips in thought for a moment. "Well, the Association is always looking for financial support; spell research can get expensive. Besides that, for decades they've been agitating for better access to the Capital City Library, and _any_ access to the Imperial Library. Both are held under the control of the throne and access to them is the main tool that the nation has to force the Association magi to obey the laws. If a wizard wants to set up a tower out in the wilderness somewhere, they pretty much can. The problem is that, when they do, they typically start doing experiments that end up either blowing up vast tracts of land or creating monsters that they can't be bothered to care for...so they push them out the door and they go off to terrorize the neighborhood until the Landguard or some adventurers show up to deal with the issue."

Huh, wizards as toxic waste dumpers; that was a new one. For now, though, I felt like I had enough to go on.

"Ok, let's get the others back in here and move on." He rose, went to the door, and called everyone back in. After they had settled back into their chairs, Isaac leaned forward and was opening his mouth to start pontificating again.

I jumped in quickly. "Thomas, if I'm going to actually have to run this show—or even pretend to—I need to understand how it works. In particular, how the government is structured, how magic works, and whatever you can tell me about our military and the invaders. Take it in whatever order you want. Give me the 50,000 foot view."

Thomas paused a moment, organizing his thoughts. Then he started talking, laying out everything I had asked for. He stopped several times to point out that he was not an expert on magic; each time, he tried to defer the question to one of the Archmagi, but each time, I waved him on.

"Excuse me gentlemen," I told them the first time I shut Isaac down. "I'll ask you to explain the details of magic in a moment, but for now it's more important to get the basics, and particularly to get them as they're understood by a layman. I'm interested in how much magical knowledge there is among the general population." The last was vaguely true, but mostly it was a line of bullshit intended to salve their ego. Getting it from Thomas was a lot better than listening to Isaac ramble on. I had met geeks who reminded me a lot of him; if you asked them the time, they'd tell you how to mine, smelt, and machine metal in order to build the tools to build the gears to build a clock.

"We've got a lot to cover," I added. "It'll be more efficient if we don't switch speakers much. Please bear with me."

Isaac looked sour at being denied his time in the spotlight, but the others just shrugged and leaned back, enjoying the fire. Thomas went back to laying out the high level summary.

The government turned out to be a fairly simple feudal setup; at the bottom were the yeomen, then petty nobles (knights, minor lords, and so on), baronets, counts, dukes, and the ruler at the very top. There were also religious orders and mage schools which were technically under control of the ruler but were actually powerful enough to mostly go their own way. And finally, there was the Conclave of Lords.

The Conclave was the only unusal thing in this otherwise boilperlate-fantasy-novel stew—seven members, one each from the six main powergroups plus the Commander of the Landguard. Each of the members was among the most powerful and respected member of their particular class; magi, nobles, merchants, and so on. They were referred to as "Lord Mage", "Lord Merchant", or whatever. Interestingly, there was even a "Lord Shadow", the representative of the criminal class. Apparently the crime societies were willing to trade a degree of restraint for a degree of legitimacy (which actually seemed like a really good idea when I thought about it).

Unsurprisingly, the organized crime cartels ended up being better police than the actual police (which made a lot of sense actually; as I recall both the Mafia and the Yakuza used to do the same thing in the real world). Case in point: certain types of crime simply didn't happen in Flobovia. The annual number of rapes could be counted on the fingers of one hand, and there was no arson anywhere that fires were likely to spread out of control—although plenty of arsons happened in other places, and oftentimes someone normally outside the criminal class would burn down a competitor's warehouse or such.

The Conclave were officially just an advisory body to the ruler with no power of their own. In actuality they functioned more as a parliament or congress, with substantial lawmaking ability, and they often clashed with the ruler or went behind his back. It was a very "John Marshall has made his decision, now let him enforce it!" setup, except in reverse. Whatever, it seemed to work for them.

I gathered from some disgruntled comments that Isaac and Reynard made that most of the Conclave's law-making time was spent on laws related to magic. Turns out that teaching random people how to play skee ball with the laws of the universe is not totally compatible with a quiet and peaceful city. Between drunken mage brawls in the taverns, occasional escaped demons, out-of-control elementals, rampaging golems, magic items being constructed and sold with little to no quality assurance, spell misfires that turned three city blocks purple, and absent-minded magi falling out of the sky when they forgot the duration on their Fly spells...well, let's just say that boredom was really not a problem in Flobovia's capital.

There were other laws, of course. One that I was pleased to hear about was the Slavery Nullification Edict of Sultan Phil the Second's Year 2. (First off, they reset their calendar every two years? Really? And, more important...'Sultan Phil'? Seriously? And he was the _second one_?! Either the people who interdimensionally ganked random weirdos to run this place had a corny sense of humor or the universe was a lot more twisted than I had thought.) The Edict decreed that slavery was illegal in Flobovia and that any slave who touched Flobovian soil was thereafter free. I was thrilled at Flobovia's enlightened stance... until two minutes later, when I heard about the number of people in debtor's prison or, worse, outright debt peonage. That took the bloom off the rose pretty darn fast.

The details kept coming as we talked; it was a lot to take in, but I just set my brain on record and tried to soak up as much of it as possible.

Once I let Isaac start talking I got a lot more detail on the magic, although I had to keep nudging him to stay on point. The magic was much easier to follow than the politics since I already had a good grasp on the ideas. It was the standard Vancian magic system used in D&D and other games on my world; wizards memorized spells in the morning from giant books that they carried around while clerics needed prayer instead of a book. Some spells had material components, some of which were expensive or bulky. A few types of casters, such as sorcerers, could cast spells without memorizing them first, but most of these types had stringent restrictions on what they could cast. And, of course, the caster's level determined how many spells could be cast per day.

I raised a hand to interrupt. "Hang on, what did you say? What was that about levels?"

Isaac looked confused for a moment, then seemed to understand. "Oh, of course. You must be from a dimension with an incompatible mystic framework—one of those point based ones, maybe? Anyway, yes, here people have class levels in whatever their profession is and—"

I couldn't help it, I burst out laughing.

"You're kidding," I said wiping the tears away and still snickering. "Class levels? Wizards, clerics, and sorcerors? Let me guess: you also have hit points, time is measured in 6-second rounds, Magic Missile is a first level wizard spell that creates a ball of force which never misses. And, let me guess—Thomas you're...what, a 15th level fighter? No, wait, you're a paladin, aren't you?"

If Thomas had been confused before, now he was amazed; oddly, the wizards were just grinning quietly to themselves. "18th, actually, and yes, paladin. If you didn't even know what class levels were, how did you know all that?"

I started snickering again and waved the question away, musing out loud. "Hah, so this isn't just a hackneyed piece of Mary Sue fanfic, it's a hackneyed piece of Mary Sue _D &D_ fanfic. I wonder if it's based on some schmuck's game?" I shrugged to myself. "Well, at least I remember some of the rules. Wish I'd played more recently but meh, Sir Poley and Milo were good teachers."

Thomas had clearly given up trying to understand a word I was saying and had gone back to simply waiting quietly until my little brain-ramble wound down.

"Right, ok, a few more questions. Let's start with actions; I remember that there are different types and restrictions on what you can do with each in a turn, but I don't remember the details. I've got a couple ideas for the Deorsi, but I need to know if... they... work." Something weird was happening inside my head; it felt like movie credits scrolling past behind my eyes.

The four of them were sitting back; the wizards' smiles looked like cats with cream on their whiskers. Isaac's smile looked positively smug, Matthew's was pleased, and Reynard's was just a quiet little thing, mostly hidden behind the cloud of smoke emanating from the pipe he had pulled from a pocket. Thomas's just looked a little sympathetic.

"Check me on this," I said slowly. "Time is measured in six second rounds. In a round, I can do one full-round action. Or a standard action and a move action. Or two moves. In any case, I can take one or more free actions at any point. Picking up an object is a move, and dropping it is a free. Right?"

They all nodded.

I turned on Reynard. "Ok, what the hell?" I half-spat. "How the hell do I know this stuff?! It's like there's some...weird encyclopedia in my head. What did you do to me?"

Reynard just kept puffing his pipe, quiet smile firmly in place, as Isaac jumped in. His answer was insufferably smug. "Well, we can hardly afford to have a ruler who doesn't speak the language or know how the world works, now can we? The Summoning is quite specific; it finds someone skilled at their trade, of sound mind and body, without too many close ties to their homeland that would make it hard to transport them through the Void. It brings them here and, in the process, it provides them a grounding in the basics of this world. How time and movement work, the various languages, the map of the nation and rough details about the adjoining nations and our relations to them, a few other things. In addition, it takes whatever non-magical written information is inside the Summoning Circle, burns it to ash, and embeds the information therein in your mind. In your case, we had it implant a compendium of all the creatures of a mystic origin and many of the mundane ones we knew of, plus the effects of all the spells the three of us knew or could find descriptions for. You won't be able to cast them, of course, but you'll know how they work."

I was stuck somewhere between sensibile admiration, rage, and shock.

 _~They messed with our_ _ **mind**_ _!~_ said Rage.

 _~But it was a smart thing to do. And pretty useful.~_ said Sensibility.

 _~Wurble, wruble, flibble...gahhhhhhhh!~_ said Shock.

 _~See?! Shock is on my side! They messed with our MIND!~_ said Rage.

 _~He's not on your side, he's just babbling.~_ said Sensibility.

It was about at this point that I had to laugh at myself for actually imagining this internal dialogue (trialogue?). The laughter blew the anger and shock away, and my sensible side was back in control. Rage whispered a final snide comment at me before dispersing: _~you know they'll do it again if they feel it's necessary._ ~ I shook the thought away but it still took root in a dark little corner of my heart.

Looking at Reynard again, I shrugged. Having the summoning ritual give the ruler a general knowledge base, in fact, was a very sensible thing. And in my case, an incredibly useful one. I would need to know this stuff cold if I was going to Munchkin my way out of this mess.

I visualized my new Brainopedia as a giant leather-bound tome—I always liked that word. "Tome." So much classier than the banal "book." In my mental picture it was thicker than the New York yellow pages, more than a cubit tall—another cool word, 'cubit'—and about half that wide. I riffled through it until I found the pages I needed, reviewing the map of the countryside, and the descriptions of certain spells and constructs.

"Ok, let's get back to it. How badly are we outnumbered?"

Thomas's answer sounded grim. "If we strip the nation bare we can raise about twenty thousand troops from the various nobles, including a few thousand mercenaries. On top of that we have two thousand Landguard and a few hundred members of the special units. The problem is that military authority in Flobovia is...diffuse. Each soldier is loyal to his specific lord, each of the lords being loyal to his lord and so on, until you get to the Dukes. The Dukes, in theory, obey the throne, but in practice they fight to maintain their own independent authority. And since the troops are loyal to their own immediate lords, the direct military authority of Capital City is more a polite fiction than a reality."

I frowned in puzzlement. "How does that work? How do you protect a country with a military that's so fractured?"

Thomas shrugged with a look of chagrin. "It's our fault, actually. Since our inception, the Landguard has worked to prevent any form of centralized military authority from arising. It made things safer; Flobovia hasn't needed a national military in over a millenium, and the biggest threat was a civil war caused by an attempted coup d'état. The local militias take care of any wild animals or brigands, the special units handle any powerful monsters that show up, and the Landguard...well, we make sure that no internal threats come up."

The smile didn't last though; he looked somber again as he continued. "It's biting us now, though. As far as we can tell, the Deorsi outnumber us five to one in troops and, on average, their troops are better—we'd guess they're each about fourth level fighters, maybe higher, while ours are mostly first or second. They also have a unified command structure and supply train. It's also clear that they have more wizards of each level, and more magi overall, than we do. They also have excellent cleric support so healing isn't a problem for them."

Argh. This was going to suck. "Ok...tell me about these 'special units' you mentioned?" I was hoping that they were all crossbreed ninja clones made from the genomes of Chuck Norris and Arnold Schwarzenegger; badass shadow warrior assassins able to cause earthquakes by punching the ground and dual-wielding infinite-ammo paired miniguns.

Thomas shrugged. "The special units are comprised entirely of people with class levels—many of them quite high—who want to be attached to the army but not _in_ the army. They serve in their own small squads, usually four to six people to a squad but sometimes as few as two or as many as seven. They generally have a mix of class types, although sometimes they will all be of the same or related classes. They provide most of their own gear, although they are able to requisition supplies, equipment, healing, and so on from any army base. In general, they are equipped with a broad assortment of combat-oriented magical gear which makes them extremely useful in certain capacities—scouts, snipers, siege breakers, various other things. They are highly paid and take strategic direction from High Command, but make their own tactical choices."

I nodded. "So, basically, adventuring parties who decided that army service is nicer than dungeon crawls but aren't willing to put up with marching in rows. Ok, got it. What about the Landguard?"

Thomas glanced at the Archmagi appraisingly. "Our number is restricted by Writ to two thousand, M'Lord, all paladins. Beyond that, I would prefer to answer in private, if I may."

I was surprised by the answer but decided not to push it; he surely had a good reason. Instead, I turned to other things.

The briefing kept going, covering a wide variety of topics. Many of them were in my Brainopedia, at least in outline, but it was useful to get details and confirmation from Thomas or one of the Archmagi. On one or two subjects, the Brainopedia turned out to be incorrect or misleading, which was profoundly disturbing.

Two hours in, we stopped briefly to order some food. Within five minutes, a girl in a maid's uniform was bringing in a tray with a big piping hot meat pie, an array of fresh baked breads, multiple kinds of cheeses and fruit, and a pitcher of hot cider. She was very pretty but I chose to ignore it; I was old enough to be her father. She also carried a canvas bag containing charcoal briquettes, which she added neatly to the fire, using tongs so as not to get herself filthy.

"Thanks, Suze. Tasty stuff! Apple trees, right?" said the flames.

I practically jumped out of my chair. "Yow!" I yelled. "It talks!"

The young maid looked at me in alarm, clearly frightened. "Yes, M'Lord," she said, bobbing a nearly frantic curtsy. "This is Allison, M'Lord. She's a salamander, M'Lord, and responsible for providing the fire in whatever room of the castle you're in, M'Lord."

"She's also _right here_ ", said the fire grumpily. "I can talk for myself, Suze. Anyway, yes, Your High and Mightiness, I'm bound to, and I quote, 'provide cheery, pleasant, and well contained light and heating for the ruler regardless of his spatial location.' So, yeah, I follow you around like a puppy dog and sit in the boring old fireplace or on a torch or a candle except when you specifically tell me to sod off and leave the room dark so you can sleep."

This was followed by, I swear to God, a disgruntled sniff. How she did it with no nose, I have no idea.

"I came to this plane to see things, talk to things, and taste things. I wanted to munch on some of the yummy peach trees and delicious anthracite seams and the miles of delicious dried grasses that I had heard so much about. Instead, I've been squatting in this freezing pile of rock for five hundred years, following the latest doofus from room to room. High point of my day is when one of the girls brings me something tasty to nosh. By the way, thanks again Suze; this really is yummy."

I was grinning from ear to ear. _Finally_ , someone who didn't think I was the Second Coming. Seeing my grin, Suze unbent enough to respond to the little elemental, although she was still shy about it. "You're welcome, Allison. I know how much you like the apple charcoal, so I asked them to set some aside for you."

I bowed to the fireplace. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Allison. Please excuse my jumpiness, I've never met an elemental before. Anyway, give me some time, and I'll see if we can't improve things for you. In the meantime—Suze, please make sure Allison gets nothing but the apple charcoal, or whatever other fuel she likes that we have available. And thanks for introducing us."

Suze looked at me wide-eyed, as though I'd just grown a second head out of my elbow. But she quickly gathered herself up, bobbed another curtsey and, with a hurried "Yes, M'Lord" she was gone.

We went back to the briefing, continuing for several hours until I started feeling like my brain was going to explode. At that point, I rose to wish them all goodnight, saying that I would sit here a bit longer.

"Your guards, of course, will need to remain, M'Lord," Thomas declared firmly, even as he started to rise.

I pulled a face. "Can't they just wait outside? I'd like some time to myself."

Thomas's answer was granite-firm. "No, M'Lord. You cannot be left alone; so it is Writ."

I sighed. "Fine, you stay, the other guards leave. Gentlemen," I said, turning to the Archmagi and offering a handshake. "Thank you for your help tonight; the details really helped." In a moment, I was alone again with Thomas while Allison crackled in the fireplace.

Settling back into my chair, I let my thoughts drift for a long while until I was right on the edge of falling asleep. Eventually, a thought nagged at me.

"I'm guessing most of your rulers aren't terribly polite to the servants?" I asked Thomas idly, thinking back to Suze and her jumpiness.

He raised an eyebrow at the odd topic, but answered. "Not really, M'Lord. Most of them treat the servants as conveniences. The previous ruler was a good example; harmless enough but unthinking and somewhat insulting to those around him. Spent most of his time in his workroom building little gadgets. He was fond of calling one of the serving girls up to his rooms at night, though. The one before him was more competent, but also enjoyed his, ah, 'prerogatives'."

"That ends now," I told him firmly, my lethargy forgotten. "Anyone, of any rank, who compels a woman to have sex against her will will be punished severely. Got it?"

Thomas grinned in satisfaction. "I'll make sure to pass the word, M'Lord."

"That's another thing—this My Lord crap has to go, at least between you and me. You're going to be with me all the time, and you're going to be one of my principle advisors. Call me Jake."

Thomas nodded, saying nothing.

"Good to meet you too, Jake," Allison said. "So, you guys gonna be talking late, Jake? Because, you know, if you're not, you can always order me outta here, Jake. I know when I'm not needed, Jake." said Allison, making it obvious that she was deliberately yanking my chain with the familiarity; especially since I hadn't explicitly offered it to her.

I snorted and grinned again. "No, please stick around for now, Allison; we've got a lot to discuss, and you make the room a lot nicer. Feel free to chime in if you've got anything relevant. Just...please don't distract us, I'm beat."

"Huh. You know, in five hundred years there've only been a few rulers who's ever said much more to me than 'Brighter' or 'Hotter'; most of them can't get past the 'elemental' thing." She sounded exactly the same as a person would while watching a dolphin ride a bicycle to the market for fresh coleslaw.

I gave her a tired smile. "It's nice to have someone to talk to who isn't too impressed with me." Something raised a flag, and I asked her "Lacking any segue at all, what are the exact terms of your binding?"

"'Terms having been agreed, this elemental shall be bound by its True Name'—I'm not saying my Name so don't ask—"'unto those terms, which are as follows: the elemental shall provide cheery, pleasant, well-controlled and well-contained light and heating for the ruler regardless of the ruler's spatial location. Said light and heat shall be provided to whatever degree and from whatever location the ruler requires. The elemental shall not depart the ruler's presence unless explicitly ordered to depart by the ruler in his or her own person and of the ruler's own free will. When not needed, this elemental shall return directly to the circle of its summoning and wait for the ruler to call it back, at which time it shall return to the ruler instantly and resume its duties. The elemental shall hold in confidence all aspects of the ruler's life, including but not limited to conversations, thoughts, appearance, location, close companions and advisers, actions of any sort, and all other details pertaining unto the ruler. At no time shall the elemental harm any living being.'"

I sat back, thinking it through.

Allison hemmed a bit. "That's a rough translation, of course. The actual language of magic is far more precise than this sloppy stuff that you meatsacks use."

Both Thomas's and my lips quirked a bit at that. "Sloppy, huh? That oath sounded like something a whole team of pricey lawyers would draw up," I told her. "So, since 'Allison' clearly isn't your True Name, where did it come from?"

Her reply sounded wistful. "There was a cleaning woman named Allison here in the castle, about fifty years after I got here. Cute little thing, about Suze's age. One of her jobs was to keep me fed, so we saw each other every day. Neither of us had many people to talk to, so we would always take some time to chat."

I nodded, understanding how nice it was to make a friend when you were lonely in a strange place; I'd been there when I first moved cross-country. "I'm sorry you were lonely. What happened to the original Allison?"

"She got old, then she died."

"Oh." I'd put my foot straight into that one; Allison-the-elemental had been here for five hundred years, of course she'd outlived everyone she'd known along the way. "I'm sorry, I should have realized."

"Meh, it happens," she said, clearly making an effort to shake off the mood. "You meatbags go out like fireflies—which, by the way, is a really stupid name, since there's no fire in them at all."

"Yeah, I know, just chemical reaction," I responded distractedly. I sighed tiredly. "Thomas, do I really need to lead this war effort personally? There must be experienced people in charge of the army and whatever. Can't they lead while I just stay out of the way?" Even to me, my voice sounded whiny.

Thomas shook his head firmly. "No, M'Lo—no, Jake. Incidentally, you really should decide on what title you want to use; My Lord is the term of respect used for someone of unknown rank, so it would be good to identify yourself.

"To answer your question, however: yes, we have competent generals; I would even say that one or two of them are brilliant. But it doesn't matter; none of the generals can think of a way to win; we simply don't have the forces or the strength to defeat the Deorsi.

I sighed and thought for a minute. "Okay, they're almost certainly going to cross the Maligaw River. Most of it is too deep and too fast for that to be safe, and there's only two bridges. Right?"

Thomas nodded. "Yes, exactly. And if we cut the bridges, it would be relatively easy to prevent them from building new bridges by hand. They could do it with magic, but even after they make it across the river, the border with Elfhame bulges inward; they'll either need to pass through the Hame or lose almost a week marching west before they can turn north and come towards us again. Our generals thought of that; they don't feel that they could hold the river. Instead, the Deorsi would pin them down with part of their force and circle around with the rest. We could lose the entire army that way."

"But isn't it better than nothing? We could hold them for a while, bleed them a bit, then retreat and do it again somewhere else. We can't afford a stand up fight or to let them reach the capital, so we need to keep them moving sideways across the country. And we need to make sure that every battle we fight is from a solid position. Strategic offensive, tactical defensive." I was quoting directly from some of my favorite alternate-history fantasy but hey, it wasn't like there was anyone here who could sue me for copyright violation.

Thomas shrugged, clearly not agreeing but unwilling to argue any further. "Well, no matter what route they take they'll go past several cities and a lot of towns. If they stop to deal with the cities, which seems to be their pattern, that'll give us another week or ten days. They'll also need to drop off small detachments at each city and town to run the place, so their numbers will be a bit reduced by the time they arrive."

I nodded, consulting my Brainopedia again. "Right...they can't go through the Fens because they'd lose half their army to quicksand and the local fauna," I paused as the Brainopedia coughed up an interesting tidbit. "Especially the fenfrogs." The 'frogs weren't actually frogs, but they looked like frogs. They literally ate magic; anything touched by their four-foot tongues was sucked dry of all mystic energy. Magic items were permanently drained and spellcasters lost the ability to use magic for a week or so. "And they can't circle the Fens to the west, because the headwaters of the Fens are well inside the Senis Hills, and after that the mountains."

Thomas nodded. "Indeed. No one goes through the Hills; since Archmage Senis accidentally blew up his tower last millenium there's more magic there than anywhere else we know of, and it makes the place warped. You go in, you don't come out. The Deorsi will know all that, either from captured maps or from scrying."

"Scrying, right. Going to have to do something about that; single biggest thing we need to deny them is intelligence," I told myself, thinking out loud. I tumbled some ideas around for a minute, but felt them scattering as they always did.

"I'm not good at working things out in my head; can't keep it all straight, I need something to write on. Better yet, a computer, but I'm pretty sure you don't have Apple stores here."

Thomas kept his mouth shut; by now he had caught on to my weird references enough to realize that I wasn't talking about produce vendors.

I riffled through the Brainopedia looking for something that would work in lieu of electronics. Surprisingly, I found it. And by now I was far too caught up in the problem to remember that I had been planning to go to bed.

"Let's see...we're going to need some staff for this. Could you ask someone to send in half a dozen couriers, two or three scribes, and Archmage Reynard? Also, I need to know how many casters or magic items we have available that can produce Wall of Iron, Teleport, and any of the various flight-related spells. Also, the Dedicated Wright construct. Oh, and ask Suze to send in enough food for everyone."

I was expecting him to get up and go to the door but instead he just tapped a stud on his steel bracer and said "Sending to Archmage Reynard: Please return. Bring six couriers, three scribes, count on available Wall of Iron, Dedicated Wright, Teleport, all Fly spells. Suze to bring food for all." Immediately, a sparrow made out of gray smoke popped out of the bracer and flew off through the wall. A few seconds later the sparrow flew back in and hovered in front of Thomas, speaking in Reynad's voice: "Message received, all sendings dispatched, on my way. ETA 5 minutes. Re message: Nice counting."

Well of course. What else would a magical society use for telephones other than tape-recorder ghost birds? How silly of me to be surprised.

I paused to narf some food from the tray that Suze had brought in earlier. The cider was lukewarm by now but still delicious. The cheeses were amazing—a blue so sharp it gave my tongue a papercut, a creamy and nutty goat cheese, and so on. There was only one I didn't like, a crumbly semisoft cheese with a barnyardy flavor that I wanted nothing to do with. The pie was as delicious as most of the cheeses—a buttery, flaky shell wrapped around gently spiced lamb so tender it shredded when you looked at it, a rich sauce made with plenty of wine, lots and lots of different vegetables, and a thick garlic mashed potato crust on top. Heaven. At my invitation Thomas dug in to the food as well; he seemed to agree with my assessment, as he wolfed a big slice of the pie and several bits of cheese and fruit, but avoided the barnyardy one.

Before Thomas and I had finished with our gustatory bliss, Reynard walked in, followed only moments later by a series of fit young men who were clearly couriers and three slightly tubby middle-aged men who were clearly scribes. All of the couriers and scribes arrived at a dead run, which I found disconcerting; I still couldn't get used to the attitude these people had towards me. It was nuts—I was just a middle-aged programmer, not a divine being.

Reynard settled in one of the two remaining armchairs near the fireplace with Thomas and me, while the minions (I couldn't help thinking of them that way, given their attitude) took a bench against the wall and waited quietly, the scribes with pens poised.

By the time everyone was in place, Suze and three other maids were bringing in multiple big trays of food and several small tables to put it all on. They gave us a new pitcher of hot cider, refilled our platter, made sure the minions were well provided for, and swept out quickly.

I turned to Reynard, shifting tracks. "Ok, Reynard, first thing I need is a computer to keep track of everything. And, given where we are, it might as well be a cool Tony Stark / Iron Man holographic-style interface that lets me gesture dramatically to do ridiculously simple things. _Major Image_ should do nicely, if you wouldn't mind."

He smiled again, graciously accepting his clear victory in the oh-so-very-subtle 'Yeah, I downloaded stuff to your brain, got a problem with that?' battle. "Absolutely, M'Lord." A twiddle of the fingers, a soft mumble, and a bit of burned fleece later, we were in business.

It's a little weird having one of the three most powerful physics-breakers in the country as your own personal JARVIS, but damn if it wasn't cool. And I figured it was the least Reynard owed me for messing with my mind.


	3. chapter three

After a long discussion and many plans proposed by yours truly (pretty much all of which were shot down), we packed it in for the night and I trundled off to bed.

Reynard and Thomas, coming from a world ruled by D&D rules instead of normal biology, needed exactly eight hours of sleep to function effectively. I was used to sleeping seven, and could get by on five or six for a couple of nights. Which didn't matter in the slightest, since I got no sleep at all that night; I was on the edge of freaking out completely at the situation I was in.

Seriously? I was supposed to rule a nation? Plan a defense against a powerful army when skilled generals saw no hope? What the hell? This was insane. Even better, they clearly weren't going to let me go, or return me to Earth until my two years were up, so no matter what happened I was going to be there for it.

Then again, when you come to think of it, that was a pretty powerful motivator.

Ok, fine, I was stuck here. Treat it like any project for a really, _really_ bitchy client; I'm good at projects, and at running them. It's what I do. What did I know that could help?

I spent the rest of the night skimming the big compendium of spells in my brain, jotting notes on various ideas, and going over everything I could remember of the D&D rules, every rules break I'd ever discovered or read about, every webcomic, fantasy novel, or blog post that could be helpful. I also talked to Allison for hours, getting her read on all the main people involved in the government.

She gave me the same info that Thomas had, but with a different slant and different details. The ruler (me), could use whatever title he wanted; in the last twenty years, Flobovia had had an Emperor, a Raj, a Sultan, a Poobah, a Boss, a Throk, a President, another Emperor, a Khan, a Chief Widgeteer...and now me. Below me were six Dukes, about twenty Counts, several score Baronets, and a couple hundred minor knights, lords, and so on. She was less clear on how many citizens there were, but she knew it was a lot.

And I got the answer to a minor but nagging point: why was there an Imperial Justiciar system, a Royal Forest, and so on, all with different titles? Simple; they were named according to the ruler that created them. Duh. Should have seen that one.

It was a lot to soak in, but by the morning, I had gotten it mostly straight, and had figured a few things out...one of which was that I felt utterly vile from lack of sleep.

Fortunately, it turns out that being the ruler of a fantasy kingdom has a few perks, showers being one of them. (Which answered my question from the previous day.)

It was a pretty clever system, actually. The walls and floor of the shower were kept slightly warm by way of heat from a chimney that ran up the outside of one wall. The water flow was constant instead of being something that you turned on or off; when I asked later, I was told that the showerhead was a magic item containing a permanent two-inch-wide gate to the Elemental Plane of Water. When I stepped in, I discovered that the Elemental Plane of Water should really be called the Elemental Plane of Holy-Crap-That's-Cold. I yelped and jumped out, my lips already going blue.

A snicker came from across the room. Looking, I saw the flames on one of the torches positively chortling.

"Allison?!" I yelped again, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around my waist. "Hey, a little privacy, please?"

"Hey, I'm happy to go if you want, O Ye of the Rapidly Shrinking Manparts. But I don't think you're gonna like your shower very much if I do."

I wasn't going to take that grief, so I immediately skewered her on my rapier wit. "Uhhh...what?" Hey, cut me some slack, I was up all night and hadn't had a shower.

"Look, it's simple. There's three options: I sit on the pipe and heat the water up so you can get in there without your man-grapes actually retreating back inside your body, or you take a freezing cold shower, or you have the servants haul hot water and a tub up to you, which will take about an hour. Your call; it's all the same to me."

I just stared at her.

She snickered. "Don't worry, I've been doing this for five hundred years; you ain't got nothing I haven't seen before. And my binding prevents me yapping about the size of your...feet."

I really had to weigh my practical desire to be clean and awake against my desire to not be embarrassed by a snarky elemental seeing me naked. I took an internal vote and it narrowly came up in favor of 'practical'. 'Embarrassment' demanded a recount, but I told it to shut up.

"Thank you, Allison, I'd really appreciate it. Just...could you go easy on the jokes? I've already had a long week, and it's only my second day."

And so I got a deliciously hot shower while an intelligent campfire teased me about my thinning hair and reminded me to wash behind my ears. What a weird world.

A few hours later, I was feeling much better; clean, refreshed, and dressed in an elegant velvet outfit that had been laid out for me when I came out of the shower. There was even a valet to help me get it on, which proved to be a good thing since the way it all fit together was baffling. (Fortunately, codpieces had gone out of vogue six months earlier, or I would have pitched a fit.)

I'd had a light breakfast and now we were out in the city. There was no specific plan or destination, I just needed to see what was out there. I thought it might give me some ideas, and I wanted a better sense of what this place was like. The idea of me wandering around on foot in the crowds gave Thomas apoplexy, but he dealt with it. I wanted to bring one or two of the Landguard along to serve as guides. Thomas wanted to send eight as close-in protection, with twenty more sweeping nearby rooftops and higher-level rooms for potential sniper nests. We argued about it and it turned out that this was one of the very few grey areas where his various oaths left him unsure where his duty lay. In the end though, I bargained him down to no long range protectors and only four close-in ones.

Of course, these four looked like about twelve; they were absolutely huge men carrying a variety of oversized weapons and generally looking like they could win the Superbowl all on their own...without passing the ball or moving faster than a walk.

"M'Lord, I'd like to introduce you to Sergeant Robert Greenlake, Healer Specialist Rob Davidson, Mage Specialist Bob Guardson, and Guardian-First Aerith. They'll escort you for the day and serve as guides wherever you want to go. If there's something in particular you'd like to see, ask them and they'll know where to find it."

I squinted at him, suspiciously. "So...Robert, Rob, Bob, and Aerith?"

He nodded without so much as a twinkle in his eye. "Yes, M'Lord."

I just shook my head. "Right, of course. Alas, poor sanity, we hardly knew ye. Come on, let's go."

I know it's a cliché but...the city was a place of wonders. Buildings as high as eight levels (astounding for a medieval technology level) and a few towers that went much higher; those were mostly for wizards, astronomers, and other eccentrics. Most of the streets were absolutely pristine—none of the manure and dirt that I had expected to see. People riding magic carpets, flying on broomsticks, pegasi, ornithopters, and even stranger things; a few people were flying with no visible support at all. Incredible art everywhere; we passed fifteen large murals before I stopped counting, many of the street signs were oil paintings in small glass boxes, or elaborate metalwork, and even the poorest building had some sort of gargoyle, scrollwork, engraving, or mural. People of what seemed like a hundred races went past, just going about their business. Many of them were races I was familiar with—elves, dwarves, halflings, some half-breeds—but many were completely unfamiliar; eight-foot bipedal scaly types with huge yellow snake eyes and four-inch talons on hands and feet, furry five-foot-high starfish creatures who were so shaggy it was hard to make out any details, two-torsoed centauroids, the torsoes facing in opposite directions but each with an excessively long, flexible neck that would allow them to turn to face each other, and dozens of other species.

The buildings, like the inhabitants, came in a bewildering variety of styles; large silk pavilions existed right next to multi-level wood buildings that would have looked perfectly sensible in any rural American town. Every possible building material was being used somewhere: terracotta, metal, stone, wood, cotton, silk—even diamond and (apparently) actual forcefields. Some of the last were transparent, some were opaque; watching the inhabitants of the transparent ones cook, read, and even undress was more than a bit weird.

"What's that thing?" I asked, pointing at a tiny blue wooden building, no more than four feet square and seven feet high.

Bob looked where I was pointing. "Dimensionally expanded apartment—nice digs but not cheap," he said with a hint of envy in his voice.

I smiled very slightly. "So...it's bigger on the inside?"

He nodded. "All the richest folks want them. It's about the best security you can get, and if you want more space you just hire a mage to come in and push the spell out a bit."

"Makes sense," I responded, already distracted by the shifting urban kaleidoscope around me. I was looking around at the number of people on the street with us and it was simply astounding—probably as high as modern New York.

"How big is Capital City, anyway?" That was still the stupidest name for a city ever. Then again, I suppose that back in the real world we named a major city 'Oxford' just because it was next to a place in the river where bovines could go wading.

Bob was right on the edge of gushing. "It's about three miles wide and eight miles long, and according to the last census we had just crossed the million-person threshold."

"Fascinating reading, the census," commented Aerith with a butter-wouldn't-melt-in-my-mouth tone.

"Very true," agreed Robert soberly. "Important document for a bodyguard to be familiar with. You never know when a rampaging demographic will leap out from a dark alley."

I laughed with them. Jokes aside though, I couldn't get over the population density; I couldn't be sure, but it looked like it was about as high as Manhattan. In the middle of a feudal society how did they grow enough food, or produce enough goods?! Ok, sure, magic had to figure in heavily, but I hadn't expected there to be _that_ many magi and magic items kicking around.

As we kept walking I periodically stopped to examine various random things that caught my eye. We walked into a tailor shop to find the tailor filling out some paperwork—probably the bill of sale—while an animated tape measure marked off all the relevant dimensions of the customer and a floating scissors cut up cloth to be sewn by several animated needles. An elegant worsted wool suit flowed into existence behind the needles.

A blacksmith had a stone kettle which served as his forge; instead of needing a fire and bellows, he simply placed a piece of metal in the kettle where it rapidly started to glow red, yellow, and finally white hot. Throughout the process, the kettle stayed—quite literally—stone cold.

The streets were lined with lightpoles inside which thousands upon thousands of tiny sparks floated slowly. Looking closer, I realized that they were produced by tiny flying jellyfish no larger than my thumbnail. Their bodies were hard to see as they were almost perfectly clear, but their tentacles shifted wildly through an array of colors which ended with a tiny flash of light.

We passed a fountain with water that appeared from midair as a downward-facing jet twenty feet in the air, fell two feet, and then forked into gentle rain pouring down into a marble catchment. Not a single drop escaped the catchment, although when I reached in, I was able to scoop some up in my hand and bring it out with perfect ease; it was as pure and cold as glacier melt water. The catchment itself was covered with elaborate carvings of fauns, nymphs, and woodland creatures done in such detail that I kept waiting for them to blink. It had no drain, yet only contained about a foot of water no matter how much fell.

Around the next corner we passed a temple; under an awning outside were a group of clerics standing in front of a long line of raggedly-dressed people. They were offering food to everyone in the line, and healing to those with significant wounds or diseases. Minor wounds or sniffles were treated with basic first aid, more serious things with magic. Inside the temple, I could hear young voices singing what was clearly an 'ABC...' song. As we wandered through the city, I realized that there were temples to a variety of gods, and that every single one had an aid and teaching effort in place.

Continuing on, we came to a giant silk pavillion with its flap tied open. Outside the "door" a heron made of silver metal perched on one leg singing a crystalline love song. Beside it stood a young brunette talking to a passing man. As he walked by, the woman looked sad for a moment until she noticed me and my guards. Suddenly a smile lit up her face and her entire appearance shifted, flowing into a dusky-skinned Queen of India with long night-black hair to her waist, elegant cheekbones and eyes you could drown in. She was so beautiful she might have stepped right out of one of my dreams. She wore a close-fitted dress of sheer black silk that flowed down her body like rainwater, falling to her ankles and slit to the hip to show tantalizing flashes of caramel leg.

"Won't you come in, good sir?" she purred to me in a throaty murmur. "Robin Yellowlake is the finest clothier in all Flobovia, with hand-made clothing fit for the ruler himself. You look so very handsome in your current apparel, good sir, but it doesn't flatter you the way a Robin Yellowlake original would; you could be so much more fetching in garb designed to enhance your powerful aspect. I can just picture you in a tunic of blue samite," she smiled and shivered in delight. "The ladies would be lining up at your door, good sir, with myself at the head of the line. Or perhaps—"

Bob touched me on the arm. "Come away, M'Lord. It's a standard advertising phatasm; it has a very slight hypnotic effect that forms itself to the precise tastes of the viewer."

I blushed fiercely and turned away, hurrying on and praying that my escort had not seen or heard what I had seen and heard; it was far too embarrassing.

As we wandered on through the city, I noticed a pattern; there was magic everywhere and very little of it repeated, although there was a lot of overlap. Coopers, tailors, smiths, haberdashers, potters - all had some mage-crafted way to produce goods faster, yet the precise means varied wildly.

When I asked about this, Robert responded, "Artificer magi have never been common, M'Lord, but Flobovia has been around a long time; magic items accumulate and useful ones get passed down through families."

I nodded understanding and, having seen enough, turned back towards the castle. The guards shifted at the same time, smoothly maintaining their diamond formation around me.

Two hours later, I was back sitting in the sitting room (was there a standing room?), which had become my de facto war room. We had a system going; I sat in my chair by the fire while some poor schmuck who happened to be a sixth-level wizard cast Major Image and kept it running, constantly updating it based on my verbal commands and physical actions. It made a fantastic map table / whiteboard (and it was still a total blast playing Tony Stark with the little hologram widgets). A line of couriers sat around being very, very quiet. Scribes furiously copied down everything I said, each assigned to various tasks such as "copy the whiteboard" or "write the orders the couriers will carry." It bordered on creepy but also kinda appealed to the side of me that had always secretly thought being a minion-employing Evil Overlord would be fun.

If I had an idea, I turned to Thomas or Reynard to see if it would work—the vast majority of my ideas didn't. If there was some key fact that none of us knew, a Sending would be dispatched or one of the couriers would go sprinting off to get the answer. The answer would arrive a few minutes or an hour later, and some scribe would remind me of why I'd been asking about this so I could finish the thought.

First off, my idea for hitting the Deorsi in their logistics and letting them starve was DOA. When I proposed it, Thomas and Reynard pointed out—in much more diplomatic terms of course—that it was a braindead idea, since the Deorsi weren't far enough away to starve before they got to us. Furthermore, even if they were far enough away, they would simply raid the stored food of Flobovia to make up their lack, leaving _our_ people to starve.

That'll teach me not to slavishly copy Flint's Belisarius without thinking it through. (Although I did find myself wondering what a matchup between Thomas and Valentinian would have looked like.)

There were some things that worked, though. It was obvious that our wizards were going to be the best source of game breakers to defeat the militarily superior Deorsi, so I issued orders that every single wizard in the country was summoned to the capital...only to discover that this had been put into effect a few months ago, with only a few holdouts remaining in their towers. I put some oomph behind it, stating that any wizard who had not reported to the capital and checked in with the Landguard within the next three days would be forever denied access to the Capital City Library. Since that library was the primary repository of magical knowledge in the country, that was a pretty heavy threat. As the carrot to go with the stick, I added that any wizard coming to the city and accepting a geas to serve for the duration of the war would be allowed to copy any and all known spells from the Library or from the spellbooks of other wizards.

Reynard warned me that this mandatory spell sharing would make a lot of wizards unhappy, as their income depended on selling spell information. I told him I really didn't care.

My second set of orders was for the purchase of several warehouses in the city. Crime being what it was, warehouses were built like fortresses—no windows, only one door and that was usually iron. Once we sent a few dozen clerics around to cast some Continual Flame spells as lighting, they made pefect training arenas.

As soon as the first arena was ready, I would start cycling magi through in groups: one group would use Monster Summoning spells to produce creatures that the other group would fight in order to gain experience. Even with low Challenge Rating numbers, our wizards would level fast—probably multiple times a day. Of course, that was only possible because we would cheat; the summoner has control of the summoned creatures, and could order them to stop fighting for a couple rounds while the trainees got some free hits in, or to stop completely if the trainees were in danger of dying. By staggering the sleeping shifts and having clerics on hand to heal the wounded, we would be able to keep the training going 24 hours a day.

As other arenas came online, we would start training people other than wizards, focusing first on clerics and finally on anyone who could swing a sword.

Of course, all that was part of my shinging vision for the future; for now, all that was happening was the first warehouse was being bought or commandeered—I told them I didn't care which, as long as we had it within the next four hours.

With the arena plan done I crossed my fingers and found a wizard who had created a Dedicated Wright. I needed to verify that it worked the way my Brainopedia said—I could not afford to be wrong on this. Dedicated Wright was a fascinating spell—it produced a fat little cat-sized homunculus made out of clay, designed to be left at home working on magic items for its master while said master went off and killed non-human people and stole their stuff. The Wright had two nifty properties: first, creating one involved casting an Arcane Eye on it which allowed the owner to see through its eyes at any range. The intent was to allow the owner to verify the progress on an item, but I had some other uses in mind.

The other shiny thing about the Wrights was even shinier: by concentrating, a wizard could make a Wright move around slowly or take basic actions other than crafting magic items. They couldn't do anything fancy, just simple things like "go over there", or "pick that up," but this simple little loophole was the absolute gamebreaker I'd been looking for. When I learned that I was right about the Wright, I actually yelled "Woohoo!" and fistpumped. "We've got'em now," I muttered. "Gonna make Niven's foot fall right on those schmucks, oh yeah." I snickered at my own pun.

People stared at me very strangely. For a very long time.

Once I had gotten past my elation, I told Thomas to round up every Dedicated Wright that could be found and to bring the Wrights and their magi directly to the castle via teleport.

While waiting for the magi to arrive, I turned to production capacity. It was clear from what I'd seen in the city that Flobovia had no concept of industrialization, although magic duplicated many of the labor-saving benefits of technology. They used Sending spells as telephones, scrying spells as TVs, bound fire elementals as incinerators, bound earth elementals as forklifts, Continual Flame spells as light bulbs, and so on. Despite all that, there was no way to produce huge piles of stuff, and I needed to fix that; I needed a LOT of big stuff, and even more bits and bobs.

Fortunately, I read The Order of the Stick, and I remembered Elan's primary use (aside from comic relief): his Inspire Competence songs. "Ok, we're going to need to up our crafting capacity. Here we go," I drew in mid air, glowing blue lines following my fingers. "Build a multi-level tower 60'x60'x60' with lattice flooring. Put a crafter and his equipment in the center. Pack the rest of it with a few hundred bards and have them use Inspire Competence on the craft check; they're all within 30' of him and he can see and hear them all, so he'll get a ridiculous bonus. That should let us crank stuff out in a few minutes. Set up a few dozen of these, and we should be able to make hundreds of thousands of crossbow bolts a day, thousands of suits of armor, and so on."

Having just moved an entire nation into its Industrial Revoltion without the pollution, I took a moment to pat myself on the back. Then, feeling smug, I started to move on to the next problem...when I heard a slight noise behind me. I shot a glance over my shoulder and saw one of the scribes looking uncomfortable.

"Yes?" I asked him. I tried not to sound impatient, but my thoughts were already elsewhere.

"My Lord, I wouldn't presume—"

I frowned slightly and turned to face him properly. "Spit it out," I told him firmly.

He gulped, looking like a man about to be hanged. "Ah, My Lord, the tower...while an excellent idea, I regret to say it won't perform quite to your expectations."

Now I was really impatient; sucking up annoyed me, as did distractions. I forced myself to sit on the feeling and smooth my affect out; there was clearly an issue here, and terrifying the poor guy wouldn't help.

"It's ok, don't worry. If it's not going to work, I need to know; I would much rather be told that I'm wrong than have us waste time and resources. So what's the problem?"

He gulped, obviously feeling very uncomfortable at having every eye in the room pinned on him. Gamely, he gathered himself up and started sketching numbers on his scroll before turning it to show me. "If it worked the way you suspect, M'Lord, and we set out to maximize the bonus, and therefore production capacity, of your tower it would have ten levels, each six feet high. Give each bard nine square feet, leave aisles three feet wide between rows so they can get to their chairs, leave out space for the crafter and his equipment, and you could pack in just under 18,000 bards, for a total bonus of about +36,000. Simplifying the math a bit and assuming the craftsman takes the voluntary DC increase of 10 to his check, this would let you make a suit of chainmail in about 12 minutes, which is astounding. But, M'Lord, people with class levels are rare—there probably aren't 18,000 third level bards in the nation, and certainly not the several dozen times more that would be needed to set up all the facilities you describe."

He paused, gulped again, and then gamely continued. "Also, bard song gives a +2 competence bonus, M'Lord. And competence bonuses don't stack. No matter how many bards were singing, the crafter would still only get +2."

I just stared at him, gobsmacked, as all my plans for equipping the army went up in smoke.

How the hell did these people fight wars? They couldn't make enough stuff to outfit an army!

"How the hell do you people fight wars? You can't make enough stuff to outfit an army!" I yelped to Thomas.

He looked completely baffled again—as usual. I was getting tired of that look; it meant I had tripped over some weird quirk of the so-called "physics" of this universe.

"We simply buy the equipment in the market," he said, in much the same tone that one might say "This is water. It's wet."

I gobbled. "But, you can't—not enough production—economics don't—supply and demand—"

"M'Lord," he said, using the more formal title here in public. "I assure you, we simply buy it in the marketplace. Of course, some places don't have particular goods for sale, which I've always found odd, but if it's there, you can buy what you need."

I wasn't willing to concede the point yet. "But dumping all that money into an economy would cause inflation and drive prices up! And any merchant must have a finite stock!"

"How does spending money relate to adding air to a bladder, or to changing prices, M'Lord? Merchants well...respectfully Lord, if they have a particular item then you can buy as much as you need. Isn't that how it works in your dimension?"

Aside from Thomas, who was his usual stoic self, and Reynard, who was obviously snickering in his beard, everyone in the room was staring at me uncomfortably as if I were a crazy person who might or might not be dangerous.

Finally, I just picked up my jaw and forced my brain back into gear.

"Fine," I said tiredly. "It's utterly insane and whoever designed this economic system should be shot, but whatever. I assume that selling works the same way—I can sell as much as I want of whatever I want, all without affecting prices?"

"Of course, M'Lord," Thomas said with a carefully neutral tone.

"Fine," I said again. "What's iron worth?" One of the scribes timidly answered "One silver piece per pound, M'Lord."

"Lovely. Reynard, when you cast Wall of Iron, how much iron do you get?"

"One 5'x5' square per level, each one inch thick per four levels. My casting gets 18 squares, each four inches thick," he answered immediately. "Which works out to 73,650 pounds of iron—I've done the math before, Lord. Oh, and it costs 50 gold pieces to cast." He was outright grinning now, obviously knowing where I was going.

"Lovely. That's roughly seven thousand gold pieces of economically insane profit for every Wall. Lower level magi make less profit but who cares. Get every mage who can cast it cranking right now, then get the iron to the market, sell it, and start buying gear. I want half again as many sets of equipment as we've got soldiers, so about 30,000 sets total. Each set should include breastplate, buckler, bastard sword, dagger, heavy crossbow, 120 bolts, plus sundries; clothes, tent, that sort of thing. Talk to one of the sergeants in the Landguard, get whatever he recommends. You, you, and you—go." Three of the couriers sprinted off.

I shook my head at the utter insanity of it. Then I moved on.

"How many people in Flobovia?" I asked the scribe who had spoken up before.

"A bit over twenty-eight million as of the last census, M'Lord," he came back promptly.

I blinked. I'd been expecting a much lower number; clearly, Flobovia was doing something right when it came to food production, since I recalled that in D&D a person required "about a pound of food a day."

"How do you grow enough food for...you know what, never mind. I'm sure you just buy the damn food in the marketplace and it magically appears from some damn place without a farmer ever being involved. Probably brought there by friggin' pixies riding on rainbow unicorns."

"Oh no, My Lord. It's brought by elves on griffonback. Much higher cargo capacity than pixies." said Thomas, totally deadpan.

I eyed him narrowly. "Did you just make a joke?"

His eyes twinkled and his mouth twitched just a little. "My Lord! I'm shocked. Everyone knows that paladins are a sober and serious folk."

I tried to glare at him, I really did. But I finally broke down and snorted instead. Reynard, who had done an admirable job of staying straight-faced throughout, nearly busted a gut. When he had it under control again he leaned over to me and stage-whispered "The Commander's deepest secret is that he actually has a sense of humor. Now that you know, feel free to blackmail him!"

I stuck my tongue out at him, then went back to what I'd been thinking about.

"Ok, we're going to set up a commoner railgun. Get a bunch of normal people—no one with class levels, just beggars, homeless, drifters, laborers; anyone with no strong ties who wants to earn some silver. Tell them we'll pay two silver a day. String a line of them, each five feet apart, from here to the nearest point on the Fens, then turn east and run the line along the Fens to the point where the Deorsi are most likely to cross the Maligaw. As the gear comes available, have them pass it down the line. The first person in the line picks up an item as a move action, drops it into the hands of the next person as a free action. Repeat all the way down the chain, and within one round the item is a few hundred miles away at the head of the line."

Reynard was positively gleeful. "Non-magical teleportation, who would have thought of it?"

I shrugged. "Not my idea. I read it on a website. An average person weighs under two hundred pounds, and someone with an average strength can lift two hundred pounds off the ground, so they can shuttle people as well as goods. Also, get trackers into the Fens to find those magic-eating fenfrogs. Cage them, pass them down the line, and stockpile them at the head of the line. Get some apprentice magi down there to keep them fed. When the Deorsi get here, we'll catapult the 'frogs cages into their ranks; if the cages are padded well enough, some of the 'frogs will survive the landing and they'll eat the magic out of all the armor, weapons, and spellcasters in their area."

Most of the people in the room looked impressed; Thomas, of course, was the practical one. "We'll need to feed all these people, and get tents over them at night, of course. And it's going to require a lot of money—you're talking about hundreds of thousands of people at two silver a day. That's about a million gold every five days. Even with your trick with the Wall of Iron, I'm not sure we can afford that."

I shrugged again. "Fine. Somebody get me a list of prices for market goods." One of the scribes hastily shuffled through his stack of resource papers and handed me five sheets of closely spaced print. I studied it for a minute, flipping through the various pages, then pointed at two entries. "Here. Quarterstaves are free, firewood is 1 copper. It doesn't say how much firewood you get for a copper, just "per day." Well, I feel like only having a very small fire for a very short time today, so chop the staves up into tiny little pieces and sell each of them as a separate lot of firewood. Voila, infinite free money, and have I mentioned that your economy is broken? Here's another: a ten foot ladder is five copper; take it apart and you've got two ten foot poles each of which is worth two silver, plus ten rungs which can be sold as firewood for basically infinite money, because sanity is overrated! Oh, here's a good one—musical instruments are five gold. A woodblock is a musical instrument and quarterstaves are still free." I flipped a few more pages before finding another. "Based on weight, a mug of ale is a pint, and it costs four copper. There's eight pints in a gallon, or 3.2 silver, but a gallon of ale only costs 2 silver. Buy ale by the gallon, pour it into mugs, have over 50% profit. Let's see, what else...oh, here we go. A blank spellbook has 100 parchment pages and costs 15 gold. Rip those pages out and suddenly they're worth 20 gold for the parchment, and that's just stupid."

I grimaced in disgust. "Once again, have I mentioned that this economy is fundamentally insane? Anyway, get somebody going on all those options; you're right that we'll need the cash. Take 20% of the profits, set up schools all around the country, and hire scribes and scholars to teach. Spread the word that any literate commoner pays no taxes."

Eyes around the room got wide. Thomas spoke, very evenly, "No taxes at all M'Lord? That will seriously weaken the royal purse. And the nobles will be...distressed, if they suddenly have no tax revenue."

I snorted. "I just gave you five ways to make infinite money, after looking at your price lists for two minutes. I really don't think cutting taxes on the poor is going to be a problem. As to the nobles, give them all an annual grant of twice what they were making from taxes and they'll shut up."

Before I could start thinking of anything else, there was a knock on the door. One of the Landguard at the door opened it to admit a young pageboy right out of a Dutch painting—about twelve, blond hair cut in a bowl job, tunic and all.

"If it please you, M'Lord, the Conclave inquires if you would care to join them for the afternoon meal?" he piped.

A quick flash of guilt, and not a little worry, hit me. Yeah, it might have been a good idea to schedule a meeting with my council of advisors who happened to be some of the most influential people in the country. I hoped that they weren't too pissed at having been ignored until now.

"That sounds like an excellent idea. I am quite hungry." I rose and turned to the scribes. "Please make sure you have everything copied off the display, and then take a break for the afternoon. I suspect I'll be busy with the Conclave for a while. I'll call you when I want to start up again."

They bowed in acknowledgement and went back to hastily scribbling on their scrolls. I left the room, Thomas and Reynard flanking me and the six Landguard bracketing us, three in front and three behind.

"Is this level of protection _really_ necessary, Thomas? We're in the capital city, in the ruler's castle, surrounded by defenses and guards. The Deorsi are hundreds of miles away. What's going to suddenly leap around the corner and try to kill me, a ninja rat armed with a splinter?"

"Oh, not a rat, I think. A chicken, perhaps. Very dangerous creatures, chickens," Thomas responded, completely straight-faced. "In seriousness, though; this protection is absolutely necessary, M'Lord. We are at war; the enemy would love nothing better than to assassinate you. The Landguard is sworn to keep the ruler alive, and in our eight hundred years of existence we have never failed in that duty."

I shrugged, having already learned the futility of trying to get between Thomas and his oath. I had a feeling that this was also a subtle tweak for giving him such a hard time about the small size of the protective detail I had insisted on this morning. Instead I turned to Reynard as we continued along the corridor.

"Dedicated Wright—you can see through its eyes at any distance, right? Can you read a scroll through them?"

He look startled. "I'm...not sure. It's not the sort of thing anyone normally does with a creature that's sitting alone at home."

I grimaced; it would have been really convenient if he knew that offhand. "Feh. Ok, well, we'll find out. Thomas, could you please use that nifty gauntlet of yours to have someone go talk to one of those magi who has a Dedicated Wright. I want to know if it's possible to read a scroll through the eyes of his Wright when he can't see the scroll himself."

Thomas nodded, stone-faced, and sent one of his smoke-sparrows off to try the experiment.

As the thing left, we arrived at our destination; an open air atrium inside the castle filled with elegant gardens and a marble terrace. Waiting at a table spread with a linen tablecloth and laden down with food were two empty chairs and six richly dressed men and women. All six of them rose to their feet as we entered. Looking at their faces, I recognized Archmage Isaac; from his stiff expression, it was clear that he was pissed. The rest were completely unreadable, but none of them were looking friendly.

Oy, this was not going to be a fun meeting.


	4. chapter 4

_**Author's Note:**_ _I don't own D &D. Pity, that._

 _ **Important:**_ _This chapter contains some potentially triggering events (a relatively graphic fist fight) and some strong language, although nothing you couldn't say on prime time._

* * *

I was right, it was a miserable meeting. The first hint of trouble was when Lady Justice pointed out that her justiciars needed to be excluded from the draft because otherwise Flobovian civilization would collapse. Lady Shadow responded snidely, saying that surely that was an overstatement. Duke Frederick, more formally known as Lord Patriciate since he represented the peerage (with a title like that, it was obvious why he went by 'Duke Frederick'), started talking about what he would do with the troops once they were assembled. When Thomas quietly pointed out that I would be in charge, not Frederick, things went nuclear. I, of course, ended up stuck smack in the middle of that little 'discussion.' Happy happy joy joy, except not.

Things went downhill from there; I was ready to wrap it up even before Duke Frederick started pounding the table and screaming about the madness of letting an untried outlander lead the army—particularly one who "showed as much martial skill as my daughter's pet pig."

By the time I made it back to the sitting room, I was utterly drained. I took up my usual seat by the fire and leaned back with a sigh, closing my eyes.

Blissful, restful silence spread through the room. Allison crackled quietly in the fireplace, and Thomas respected my clear desire to recharge.

"Could you make it a bit warmer please, Allison?" I asked without opening my eyes.

She didn't respond verbally, but the warm glow of the fire got brighter through my eyelids and I could feel the heat beating on my face and soaking into me.

Between the hard meeting and the lack of sleep from last night, my energy was at a low ebb. The desire to just sleep, hopefully to wake up and discover that this was all a bad dream, pulled at me like a riptide. For a moment I started to nod off but I managed to shake out of it; there was an invading army to deal with. I forced my eyes open with a sigh and focused on Thomas.

"Any word on that experiment with the Dedicated Wright and the scroll?" I asked.

He nodded. "I got the message just as we were leaving the Conclave meeting. Worked perfectly; the mage was able to read the scroll through the Wright's eyes just as if she were there. Of course, the effect still started from the caster herself, but it did allow her to trigger a spell without speaking, moving, or having a scroll in her hands. There's definitely some good surprise value there."

I frowned, dismayed. I'd been counting on being able to cast spells remotely by having the Wrights read the scrolls from far away. There was a long pause as I flipped through the Brainopedia for several minutes, trying to find a replacement.

Finally, I saw something that would work. I smiled tiredly, relieved that I didn't have to throw out the whole plan. "Ok, I want as many Dedicated Wrights as we can scrape up; find out how many there are and negotiate with the owners to use them as part of the war effort. Promise them spells, magic items, money—whatever it takes, but get them. Start making more as fast as possible, and expedite it; use magic to keep the workers going 24/7, give them Haste potions to work faster, whatever it takes."

He nodded, dispatched a Sending, and went back to being silent. He didn't look like his usual placid, patient self though.

"Something wrong, Thomas?" I asked.

He paused before he answered, clearly choosing his words carefully. "That meeting seemed...difficult for you, Jake."

I sighed. "Yeah. I don't like confrontational discussions. I find them unproductive. I prefer to discuss things, get to a consensus, and then work together on it."

Again he paused. Again the careful word choice. "Do they leave you feeling...rattled?"

I grimaced uncomfortably. It was one of the things I'd never admitted to anyone—that, way down deep, I was afraid I was a coward. But my sense of basic honesty wouldn't let me answer with anything less than truth. "Yes, they do," I admitted, forcing myself to look him in the face. I could feel my heart speeding up and my hands were cold with stress but my face was flushed with embarrassment.

Thomas paused for a long time, then he looked at the fireplace. "Allison? Give us a moment, please." The words may have been framed politely, but it was clear that 'no' was not an acceptable answer.

For once, even Allison sounded intimidated, but she didn't budge. "Thomas, you know I can't. Not unless he tells me to."

I waved her off without looking away from Thomas. "Go on, Allison. I'll call you if I need you. Please light the candles for us before you go."

Without a word, she flicked from candle to candle, sitting on each wick just long enough to get it burning. Then she was gone without a trace.

Finally having privacy, Thomas leaned forward, elbows on his stared me right in the eye. When he spoke, his voice was soft and intense, and he didn't blink at all.

"Your behavior is not acceptable in a war-time ruler. The existence of this nation is under grave threat and we need a decisive, confident ruler. We need someone with new ideas who can make things happen even against opposition.

"I don't see a way to win this war, Jake. Not against an army that outnumbers us five to one and outpowers us magically as well. None of our other generals see a way either. We can slow them down, yes. Reduce their numbers, absolutely. But we can't _win_ using our own military knowledge and traditions. We need someone from outside that framework, someone who can provide ideas that we haven't had yet. The only person who can possibly do that in the time we have is you.

"You _must_ be able to handle confrontation. When you have an idea that you think will work, you _must_ make it happen, no matter what; even if it fails it might give someone else an idea. Most of all, you need to look confident; the morale of the troops requires it. In that meeting, you looked intimidated and that is the last thing you can be—the Conclave will eat you alive if you show weakness, and the army will not follow a ruler they perceive as weak. Right now, you look as weak as a rotten branch."

He was right; I was clamping down on my breathing and body language, forcing myself to sit calmly and keep a blank face...but my hands were freezing, my palms were sweaty, and I had to swallow.

Thomas wasn't done though. His voice got even more intense; there was nothing left to it now except the primal sound of a hungry wolf. "Understand, Jake; I like you. I think you're a good person, honest, and friendly. You didn't ask to be here, or to have this duty. And none of that matters in the slightest. My duty to the Land comes first and I will follow it; either you fix your attitude or I kill you and take command myself. The nobles will panic if I do, and probably revolt; the Landguard will need to kill all the Dukes and a lot of the Counts in order to get the rest to fall in line, and even then it will cause a major civil war within a few years. And it means the Deorsi will conquer the nation while we're sorting out the power structure. But the Landguard _can_ do it, and I _will_ do it if I have to, because it will let me get some of the population evacuated while I and the Landguard die buying them time."

Finally, he leaned back. The wolf retreated, once again masked behind its human facade. "I'll support you in every way I can. But ultimately, you need to handle this."

My heart was hammering hard enough to burst out of my chest. As discreetly as possible, I pressed my hands onto the chairarms to keep them from visibly shaking. I took a moment to be sure that my voice wouldn't break when I spoke.

"Well, that's certainly...motivating. I'm not sure what specifically I need to do, though. I wish I handled confrontation better; it's something I've wanted for a long time, I just never knew how to fix it."

Thomas grinned exactly the sort of grin that you grin at someone you're about to play a really, really cruel prank on. "I think I have a solution," he said, coming to his feet. "Come with me."

I rose and followed him. I was really, really confident that, wherever we were going, I was not going to enjoy it.

He led me out of the castle and down to the area behind the stables where the horses were exercised. Along the way he dispatched a Sending, but spoke too softly for me to hear the message.

When we arrived, the sun was just touching the horizon and the area was deserted except for a man in Landguard uniform. He was at least twenty years my senior, maybe more. His hair was pure gray, there were more lines in his face than a roadmap, and he looked like he was made out of nothing but dried leather. There wasn't an ounce of fat anywhere on him and my "not gonna like this" meter pegged, then blew out the dial and moved to Florida for a nice comfortable retirement.

Thomas walked up to the other man and nodded briskly. "Sergeant, Jake here has a confidence problem and doesn't know how to solve it. Fix it. Fast." He turned and left without so much as a backwards glance.

The sergeant turned to me, sized me up, then smiled and extended his hand. "I'm Sergeant Duncan, and it's an honor to meet you face-to-face M'Lord. Don't worry, I've helped a lot of men with similar issues."

I smiled back, a bit uncertainly; my 20 ranks in Knowledge Skill (Genre Savvy) had me expecting a 'Full Metal Jacket' replay, but the greeting had been friendly; perhaps this would be more along the line of "inspirational talk and physical training." I reached out to take his hand. "It's a pleasure, Sergeant. Please, call me—"

I was face down in the dirt; my knee was on fire from where the Sergeant had brutally kicked it out from under me. He had one heavy boot on my neck and my arm in a vicious submission lock.

"I KNOW WHO YOU ARE, MAGGOT! SHUT YOUR GODDAMN PIE-HOLE! YOU HAVE A 'CONFIDENCE PROBLEM', DO YOU?! IN THIS TRADE, WE CALL THAT BEING A GUTLESS COWARD! DON'T YOU AGREE, PISS-PANTS?!"

My mouth was full of dirt and I could barely breathe for the pain, but I managed to grunt out "No!" In response he lifted his boot off my neck, kicked me in the side, and then stomped my face back down. This time his boot was on my head, and he actually ground it in, making my ear bleed.

"WHAT WAS THAT MAGGOT?! I COULDN'T HEAR YOU THROUGH ALL THAT WHIMPERING! YOU'RE A PISS-PANTS COWARD, AREN'T YOU?!"

"NO!" I yelled as loudly as I could, which wasn't very. My brain was floundering. I hadn't been in a real fight in my life—even in grade school, it was more pushing and shoving than real hitting. I'd done some martial arts but that wasn't real fighting...and besides, I'd always been too lazy to really pursue it. I had no idea how to process this, how to respond, and my mind was just shutting down.

"FINE THEN, MAGGOT! YOU THINK YOU'VE GOT BALLS?! SHOW ME!" He yanked me to my feet, nearly dislocating my arm in the process. Before I could catch my balance, he landed a straight kick in my gut that sent me sprawling on my ass. Immediately, he was on me, booting me in the face, then yanking me up by my collar and shoving me back again. I stumbled, flailing like an idiot, and this time he let me catch my balance.

"Go on, momma's boy. Feelin' scared, crybaby? Door's over there, so go ahead and run. I won't even try to stop you, you pile of crap, 'cause you're not worth the effort. We all hoped that this time we'd get a _decent_ Lord, someone we could take pride in, someone who could actually pull this off and save the Land. Instead we get you. You and your worthless fat goddamn useless ass. From what the Commander tells me, your supposedly oh-so-brilliant otherwordly ideas are for CRAP, you pathetic quim."

He spit on the ground. "So go on and run. Do us all a favor, you cowardly piss-bucket because it's hot out here, and you're not worth raising a sweat for. Or you can show me you've got some damn balls and take a swing." His face wore a nasty grin; I knew he was going to curbstomp me, and he knew that I knew.

I spat out the dirt, never taking my eyes off him. Blood was gushing from my mouth; both lips were split, and several of my teeth had been knocked right out. My jaw felt like someone was shoving a chainsaw into it, my heart was pounding and I could feel my eyes staring wide. My breath came in fast, shallow pants.

"COME ON, MAGGOT! I AIN'T GOT ALL DAY!" he shouted, waving me forward with one hand.

I shifted into a defensive stance and took a step to the side, looking for an opening.

I was down again, this time clutching my groin. He had kicked me so hard my senses shut down for a moment, the whole world going white and silent.

When it cleared, he was standing back, hands on his hips, laughing uproariously.

I pushed myself to my feet, unable to straighten up but knowing that being down was just going to make the next attack worse.

He didn't attack though, just kept laughing. "God, what a worthless mewling bucket of crap! I've had twelve year olds apply to join the 'Guard who fought better than you, you pathetic asslicker. Are you even ABLE to hit? Jesus Christ on a cracker, boy, you just plain _SUCK_ at this. Tell you what, I'm curious if you've got anything at _all_ in you, so I'll give you a free hit. Won't even move. Take your best shot."

I eyed him, not moving; this couldn't have been a more obvious trap if he'd put out a neon sign. Slowly, I forced my breathing back under control until I could straighten up. My balls still felt like someone had crushed them in a vice, but at least I could move again.

He just waited, smirking at me in contempt.

But he had finally given me the time I needed. I calmed my breathing, forced my shoulders to relax, and felt my mind detach and go cold. Everything still hurt just as much, and I knew exactly what was going to happen—either I wouldn't swing and he'd beat me senseless, or I would, in which case he would block and beat me senseless. Either way, he was going to hurt me badly, then pull me up and start it all over. Despite all that, I was calm. I knew that, once this crisis was over, I was going to have the mother of all freakouts but for right now, I was ok.

I'd had this feeling plenty of times before; it usually happened in crowds, like the few concerts and dance clubs I'd been to—basically, anywhere that mobs of people were having a great time with a shared, emotionally charged experience. I could never let myself participate. I was always separate, watching, wishing I could be part of the excitement but unable to submerge myself in the mob. When it happened like that, it was a lonely and miserable experience...but it also happened whenever there was a crisis and then it was a blessing; I was calm in the middle of the crisis, saving my shakes for afterwards.

Pulling the calm in deliberately meant that it didn't fit quite right, and that lack of fit made it fragile...but it was much better. At least I could think again.

The smirk had finally faded from his face, to be replaced by a frown of anger and contempt. "Come on, mouse dick. Either you take that shot right the hell now or I swear by the Land, I will kick your goddamn head in and call it a day. I am not in the mood for dealing with some piss-drinking coward when there is a perfectly good card game waiting for me back at the barracks. Take. Your. Shot." He adopted an 'at ease' position, legs shoulder width apart, hands clasped behind him...but his eyes were still on me and he still had a look of raw contempt on his face.

I knew he meant the part about kicking my head in, so I moved forward, watching for the inevitable attack. As I approached, I evaluated where to hit (not that it would land)—the throat could be lethal, and I was feeling ok about that; it was probably the only way I was going to come out of this not in traction. A kick to the belly would keep slightly more range open but wouldn't do enough damage to stop him. A kick to the knee might slow him down afterwards. A shot to the head seemed like a generally good choice too.

I decided I couldn't bring myself to actually kill him, so instead I stepped in close and slammed a hammerfist into the side of his head, pivoting from the hips to generate power like I'd been taught. I knew, _knew_ that he was going to duck it and smash me again, but I had nothing to lose so I swung for the fences.

He actually stood there and let it land.

It wasn't a bad hit, either; a bit off target, it hit just above his ear instead of on the disabling temple or mastoid bone, but it knocked him off his feet. He rolled smoothly and came back up, staggering just slightly as he caught his balance. Checking to make sure I wasn't following up, he shook his head to settle it, then touched the side the side of his head.

"Not bad, maggot," he said, with just the tiniest hint of respect. "Solid hit; you've got some training. Not much, and you're obviously too fat and lazy to stick with it, but you've got some. 'Course, you should have gone after me while I was down, because now I'm going to kick your damn teeth in."

I knew that he was just trying to rattle me. Yes, I was a bit lazier than I thought I should be, but I wasn't a complete couch potato either. Yes, I had a spare tire from working a desk job, but I was fitter than most Americans. Safe in my detachment, the words just rolled off like rain off a roof.

"Well, back to it, then," he said gleefully. Then he was coming in again, but not as fast this time. Maybe the blow to the head had scrambled him a little, because I saw through the feint with the left hand, and he telegraphed the uppercut with his right. I stepped around it and went for a kotegaishi wrist throw. It had always been my single best aikido move; if I was going to bet on any technique, it would be this one.

I got his wrist, made the initial turn, pulling him around with me. For once, my technique was flawless: I took exactly the right grip on exactly the right part of his hand and pivoted my entire body as one seamless unit with our hands right in front of my power center. He was whipped around the outside of the spin, off balance and trying to catch up to himself. I brought my other hand up, folded his fingers back, shifted my left foot back as I started the actual throw. It would either slam him hard into the ground or break his arm, depending on how he took the fall. I was fine with either outcome.

I was face down in the dirt again. He was kneeling on my neck, both my arms yanked up behind me. I had no idea what had just happened.

"Not bad, kid. You saw the punch when I hung it out there and you didn't panic. Granted, first time I saw that throw you were probably still in diapers...but not bad. So, what did you learn here?"

Agony was lancing through my shoulders but a part of me was still cold, still detached.

"That I can be calm in a fight," I grunted.

"What did you learn?" he demanded, pulling my arms a little higher. I hissed in pain.

I scrambled for a better answer; what was he looking for? Whatever it was, I really wanted to figure it out so that he'd let go of my arms. "That...this is what a physical fight is like? What pain is really like, and so a verbal argument just doesn't stack up?"

"Goddamn it you little crap-eater! Stop wasting my goddamn time and tell me what the hell you learned! Or do I need to rip your arms right off your body and beat you with them?!" He yanked my arms significantly higher and I felt something tear.

"I don't know!" I yelped. "I don't know, just let go of my arms and tell me!"

He laughed, but there was honest humor in it. "Well, first thing you should have learned, your Almighty Lordness, is that it's ok to ask for help on a question that you don't know the answer to, or a problem you don't know how to solve—like, for example, improving your confidence. And that the Landguard is the sensible group to ask; it's what we're here for, and we won't betray your secrets. As to this—even the other Landguard aren't going to know about these little sessions of ours. Now, come on M'Lord. Let's get you to the healer."

He let go of my arms, releasing them slowly instead of just dropping them; it prevented them from slamming back down and potentially taking more damage.

One hand under my arm, he brought me back to my feet and braced me for a moment until I was steady on my feet again. Then he brushed the worst of the dust off my tunic and started helping me back into the castle.

We were three corridors down before I thought to ask. "What's the second thing?"

"Hmm?" he responded, eyebrows raised.

"You said the first thing I should have learned was to ask for help. If that's the first thing, there must be a second thing. What is it?"

He chuckled. "Oh, that. Second thing is that you should have learned not to mess with me, for I _am_ the baddest son of a bitch in the 'Guard."

I nodded, which sent more blood pouring from my battered jaw. "Oh yeah. Definitely got that part."

o-o-o-o

The Landguard healer didn't bat an eye when the Sergeant escorted me in bruised and battered. He just looked at the Sergeant, looked at me, and gave the slightest twitch of a smile. "I'm terribly sorry you fell down the stairs M'Lord. Very slippery, they can be," he said with a barely-suppressed snicker. I glared at him but it rolled off. I really needed to work on my glares. A despotic ruler should have a better glare. And a white cat. Definitely a white cat.

"Here, let me help you with that," said the Healer, now all business. He laid a hand on each of my shoulders, bowed his head, and whispered a brief prayer. Light flooded into me, gold as honey, warm as a cozy fire. It spilled down his arms and filled me up, seeking out every tiny scrape or scratch and washing it away. I could feel the pain stopping, the bruises fading—even my teeth growing back! Afterwards, I felt as refreshed as if I'd just woken up from the best night's sleep ever.

The healer didn't even wait for my thanks, just patted me on the shoulder and shooed us out the door.

"So, that's it then?" I asked the Sergeant out in the hall. "One good beating and my confidence issue is all dealt with?"

Just for the record? Sergeant Duncan has an incredibly creepy grin, and seeing it now was not a happy-making experience.

"Oh no," he said gleefully. "We're not even close to done, M'Lord. Today was just to teach you a proper appreciation of how seriously you should pay attention during your lessons. Each time, the lesson will continue until you actually fight back in an effective way; eventually, you'll learn to fight back _before_ you get pounded into hamburger. Now, you need to go back to planning strategy, I get that. And that's going to run late, and afterwards you're going to be tired. Which means that will be a _perfect_ time for our next lesson. And when that's done, we'll heal you back up, and start again tomorrow."

I groaned, and his grin just got wider and evil-er. "I don't suppose just telling you that my confidence was all fixed would be enough to get me out of this?" I offered weakly.

I didn't see him move but suddenly he was right up in my face, glaring into my eyes and snarling, spittle flying. "SHUT YOUR TRAP YOU GUTLESS PIECE OF CRAP!" I flinched back, my eyes widening.

And then he relaxed again, with a smile that held just the faintest hint of regret. "You ain't ready yet, M'Lord. By the time I'm done you will respond to abuse with either immediate physical action or relaxed calm. Signs of intimidation just won't do. Don't worry, this ain't my first wolf hunt. I'll get you there, and probably in less time than you think."

I sighed. "Yeah, I know. And I suppose the end of that thought is really 'less time than you think...it just won't be pleasant.'"

He laughed and clapped me on the shoulder before turning to escort me to the official castle War Room (apparently we had outgrown the sitting room). For a moment I found myself wondering why I was only being escorted by one Landguard instead of the usual four or more. Then I snorted; who in their right mind would attack Sergeant Duncan? He'd just shout them to death.


	5. chapter 5

**Author's Note:** Sadly, I am neither G. Gygax nor D. Arneson. Would that I were.

* * *

There were two Landguard flanking the door to the War Room; as we strode up, one of them stepped up to us and reported quickly. "Sir, the Room is pretty full—all of the Archmagi are here, along with Dukes Frederick, Oliver, and Callum. We've also got four Counts, multiple knights and warleaders, the Archpriest and four of his Hierophants, and the Imperial Spymaster; everyone is arguing fit to shake the walls. There's seven of the 'Guard inside, plus the two of us. Orders, Sir?"

I paused, glancing at Duncan. He arched an eyebrow at me and scowled in clear implication of what would happen if I handled this wrong. I nodded, running through the scenarios of what was probably coming.

Finally I sighed and turned to face him fully. "Sergeant," I asked, "the Landguard must have signals, right? 'Danger', 'threat imminent', that sort of thing?"

He nodded decisively. "Sir, yes sir."

It felt indescribably weird—and humbling, and horribly uncomfortable—to hear that answer from a man old enough to be my father who was a better soldier than I could even dream of being. But I gave a flash of a half-smile when I heard the "sir" instead of "M'Lord". Clearly, in his mind, there was a distinction between his war leader and his political ruler, even if they happened to be the same middle-aged schlub.

"Well, here's where we find out if I can do this job," I sighed. "When we walk in, stick close. Let the other Landguard know that a...let's call it a 'stressful situation' might be coming. If it does, I don't want anyone hurt, but I do want the rest of the room contained _immediately_ so that things don't go completely sideways. Got that?"

"Sir, yes sir!" he responded, showing a smile that was really more like baring his teeth.

"Now, clerics here can regenerate broken bones, right? Make them good as new, no lasting damage?"

"Sir, yes sir!" Even more teeth were showing now; a wolf would have envied that set.

I nodded to myself, then took a deep breath. And another. I forced my shoulders to relax, settled my face. Once I was physically relaxed, I reached for that calm detachment and wrapped it around myself like armor. Once it latched itself around my mind I was able to focus down, closing out the other thoughts that were chasing around my head. I focused on my breathing, closed my eyes, and very carefully, one by one, I disengaged the brakes. Concern for others got locked in a box. Manners and courtesy were told to stand in the corner and face the wall—they'd be called if they were useful. Respect for the law (the little that I had, anyway) got sent to its room. Humility was put on a bus to Elsewhereville. Integrity was kept close, but told to shut its mouth about the fussy little details.

All the other restraints and restrictions that make up a personality were set aside one by one. I pulled steel into my backbone and turned myself into someone else, someone who wasn't afraid of anything and wouldn't stop until he achieved his goal.

It sounds like bullcrap, but it actually works. It's not a trick; anyone can do it. Shoot, I did this every time I went for a job interview. It's just a choice you make to temporarily leave behind the parts of yourself that restrain you, and focus solely on one goal with everything that's left. Afterwards, you won't always be comfortable with the actions you take during that time, but it makes you hella effective while you're doing it.

I knew exactly what was going to happen in there, and I ran the scenarios in my head one more time, preparing my response for each. As long as I knew what was coming ahead of time, I would be fine.

Finally ready, I called out Allison's name and walked into the lion's den, waving the two door guards to follow.

Inside was a madhouse, half the people red-faced and bellowing at each other and the rest (the various scribes and couriers, mainly) practically cowering. Since the room was half the size of a basketball court and fairly full, that was a lot of bellowing.

The War Room of Flobovia is spartan; light and heat are provided by, respectively, Continual Flame torches everywhere and a fireplace on each wall. Three of the fireplaces were already lit, and the fourth blazed up as I walked in; Allison, loyal to her duty as ever. Along the walls were benches where various couriers, scribes, and secretaries sat awaiting orders.

In the very center of the room the Important People stood around a large table, with their immediate minions in clusters right behind them. Each group was shouting at the others; interestingly, many of the groups were arguing among themselves as well. The main divisions seemed to be along professional lines, warriors vs magi vs clerics with the one person who belonged to none of those groups—an unremarkable woman in brown leathers—standing quietly to the side. The priests were the only ones not arguing among themselves, with the four junior members flanking their superior in a tight wedge.

I paused to study the table for a moment. Heavy, some sort of dark wood (oak?) with landmarks painted on it, suggesting that it had been the main tool for tracking military engagements before I showed up with my Major Image idea. Speaking of which, the Image was not currently in effect although Davis (I had somehow managed to remember the names of the three magi who were assigned to the duty) was sitting in a chair beside the table. He looked like a mouse at a leopard convention; I expected him to dive under the table any minute.

I watched the chaos for a moment, then tipped my head to Duncan, indicating the room.

"RULER OF FLOBOVIA, NOW ENTERING!" Duncan's voice, accustomed to cutting across the din of a Landguard training ground, actually echoed off the walls. I had to resist rubbing my ear to make the ringing stop; it wouldn't have looked dignified.

The annoucement did a great job of quieting things down, though. All eyes were riveted on me as I walked up to the table, Duncan stalking beside me and one step behind. As I walked, I flicked my eyes around the room until I located Thomas; he gave me a tiny nod. Whether it meant that he'd seen Duncan's signals and was ready or was just general encouragement, I couldn't say. I really hoped that it was the former.

I stopped at the table, an arm's length from Duke Frederick. Took a breath and considered him.

My weird-ass brain, currently running with no brakes, felt only vague interest and just the slightest hint of pity. Really, what could he do to me? Yes, he could yell and pound his fists and be intimidating. But, really...what could he do? In this room, he had two other Dukes and three Counts who would probably back him. Only four of the six of them were actually warriors; the other two were desk jockey merchant types. There were also about twenty minor warleaders, many of whom were actual warriors—but none of the Dukes, Counts, or their minions were armored or armed with more than a belt knife. I, on the other hand, had ten of the most lethal killers in Flobovia (which was still an intensely stupid name) scattered around the room in full armor and weapons. Plus I was pretty sure that Archmage Reynard, and probably Isaac and Matthew, would back me in a real fight.

I smiled cordially at the man in front of me. "Duke Frederick, thank you for joining us. I'd like to start implementing my strategy tonight or, at latest, tomorrow night. Your input would be much appreciated. Your experience could go a long way towards making this work."

He snorted through his mustache. " _Your_ strategy is it? And what foolishness is that, hmm? Little towers of singers playing the lute at a smith? People standing in lines handing each other things? In a war you need to _attack_ , to find the enemy and crush them into dust. Anyone who thinks differently is a fool! But, of course, you wouldn't know about that, would you M'Lord? After all, you've never led men into battle before. Step aside and let the grownups handle the strategy, boy. You can play your little games off to the side while we get the work done."

I had thought through this exact conversation in the hall outside, and that was exactly why I took the brakes off. My normal self, so focused on being likable and not hurting others' feelings, could never have stood up to this man. Other me would have tried and mostly managed, but not well and not easily. Right now, with all the safeties offline? Duke Frederick could paint himself blue and howl like a coyote and I wouldn't have blinked. I really didn't give a damn about this man; honestly, I was kinda looking forward to what was about to happen.

I hadn't known the exact words he would use, of course, but it had been easy enough to figure out the basic theme and to choose how I would respond. The response I had chosen was nothing I would have dreamed of in my own world...but this wasn't my world. Thomas and Duncan were correct—here, I needed to be decisive and dominant more than I needed to be right. It was exactly backwards from what I was used to.

"Duke Frederick," I said, speaking calmly and slowly. My voice had gotten even softer and my smile was wider; people who knew me well would have recognized that as a bad sign, but no one here knew me well. "I would appreciate it if you didn't call me a fool. Let me rephrase this for you: the situation is very bad, I would like your support, but I am in charge and, quite simply, you don't get a vote. Now, we don't have time to fight amongst ourselves; if you can accept my leadership, let's get to it. If not, step down from your position. Your heir can run your estates and after the war you will be fully reinstated with my thanks and a reward for your good judgement. But you need to choose right now, and you need to stick with your choice."

By the end of my speech, he was beet red and had stepped closer to loom over me. "You dare?!" he shouted at the top of his remarkably effective lungs. "Who the hell do you think you are to suggest I step down? I've ruled the Edolian Duchy since you were in short pants, you snot-nosed pup! Wipe the wet from your ears, boy! Two days in this world and you think that just because some poncy courtiers tell you you're our great savior that you can actually take Edolia from _me_?"

My eyes were dry and I felt the urge to blink, but I never broke eye contact with the Duke. "Sergeant, crush his hand."

Frederick was a trained warrior with excellent reflexes, but he was no match for Duncan's inhuman speed. Frederick started to spin into a fighting crouch and draw on Duncan, but before he had finished turning halfway, the grizzled veteran was on him. Duncan's hand closed on the Duke's right wrist like a vice and slammed it down on the table. A moment later the pommel of a dagger crashed into the back of the Duke's hand like a thunderbolt, smashing the bones to fragments.

When I looked up, the Landguard had moved. Three stood behind the Archmagi, bare steel in their hands; not directly threatening, but entirely clear about what would happen in the event of spellcasting. Two more of the 'Guard stood on opposite sides of the clerics, blades drawn and ready. Three more encircled the Counts and minor military types, while Thomas watched the entire room, weight on the balls of his feet and three feet of naked blade in each hand. Seeing them all shift from place to place between two glances reminded me of the Weeping Angels, far and away the most terrifying movie or TV monsters I'd ever seen.

Frederick clutched his shattered hand and screamed in surprise and pain, sagging almost to his knees before struggling back up, sobbing. Awkwardly, he tried to fumble his knife out of its sheath with his left hand.

I spoke very calmly. "Duncan, let him sit down. If he moves or makes a sound before I say otherwise, kill him." The Sergeant nodded with a wolfish grin and slammed the Duke to the floor before flipping his dagger around and resting it against the Duke's throat. His other fist latched onto the Duke's hair to hold him steady. Duke Frederick froze like a statue, glaring at me in rage.

I looked around the room, eyeing each of the major players in turn. You could have heard a pin drop.

"Gentlemen," I said calmly, facing the Counts and Dukes. "I was torn away from my family, my friends, and my life. I was brought here against my will to do a job I didn't want, at a time when you face an overwhelming enemy. An enemy that, if they win, will make it a particular point to kill me personally. I dislike a great deal of what I've heard about your kindgom—just for starters, I find debt peonage abhorrent, and feudalism is an unbelievably bad way to run a country. The key point here is that I owe you all _nothing_."

I stopped and turned, sweeping my eyes slowly over everyone there. "There is absolutely no reason for me to stay here. The smart thing for me to do is walk away and leave you all to burn. But. For whatever reason, I am going to do my level best to save you. But I am done with bickering, with being treated like a child, and with my orders being questioned. From now on, anyone who gets in my way or interferes with my plans will be immediately stripped of their rank and half their lands and wealth will be taken for the throne. Do we understand each other?" There were murmurs of assent—most of them grudging—and jerky nods from most, resentful ones from the rest.

I turned to the Archmagi and waved the Landguard to step back. "Gentlemen, I apologize for having the Landguard threaten you. You're all extremely powerful, and I'm sure you've all had dangerous lives that would make anyone react quickly in surprise situations. I didn't want to take a chance on startling you into accidentally flash-frying everyone in the room." I chuckled slightly and spread my arms, my body language inviting them to join in the joke. It worked; even Isaac unbent enough to smile a little. Score one for client presentations and performing as a standup comic; I knew how to work a crowd when I wanted to.

Now it was time to get them from 'not grumpy' to 'enthusiastic'. "Your discipline—the life of the mind, the power of knowledge, the effort to understand the universe...these are the things I'm trained in. I'm not a mage, of course, but I admire the work you do, and I hope you'll continue to do it in support of the nation; we can't win this war without you." The ego-stroking done, I paused for their answer. They all nodded; Isaac wore an only-slightly-sour smile, Reynard had a twinkle in his eye, and Matthew—quiet Matthew, imperturbable Matthew—was actually looking at me in pleased respect and surprise.

Finally I turned to face the clerics, again waving the Landguard off before giving the clerics a half-bow. "Gentlemen, I don't practice your faith, but I do respect it." Which was a flat lie, but I wasn't going to start talking about my anti-theist beliefs in a world where gods literally went around smiting people. "Your good works in the city are the salvation of thousands, and it speaks highly of you that you would undertake such works without possibility of repayment. I was delighted at your education programs and I'd like to offer national resources towards expanding them. Your efforts will be absolutely vital in this war; without it, the men's morale will fail, wounds that could easily be healed will kill them, and disease will sweep through the camps, killing hundreds if not thousands. As to the bared blades just now...as I said to the Archmagi, I do apologize for the Landguard's actions—they were acting on my orders, and I had them take position around you for the same reason that I had them restrain the Archmagi; I really didn't want to startle you into Flame Striking the lot of us into oblivion." I paused to chuckle ruefully, again with the open body language that invited them to join me. "After all, I'm sure you all have a lovely afterlife waiting for you, but I'm not sure about myself so let's not be in too much of a hurry to get there, hmm?" I deliberately grinned.

Apparently the church is more political than the Association of Magi, because the Archpriest clearly saw right through my ego-boo and face-saving efforts. One eyebrow went up a tiny fraction, his lips quirked in a minute smile, and he gave the tiniest little snort of derision as if to say "Really? Don't you think that was a _little_ over the top? Try it again without the cheese." But, then his face relaxed into a true smile and he positively beamed at me. "The True Church would be glad to help, My Lord, in whatever way we can. And we will speak to the minor churches for you."

I nodded my thanks and turned to the last remaining group, the warleaders. Most of them were clearly furious at how I had treated the Duke, but none of them were actively causing trouble.

This time a bow of respect; not too deep though, as I didn't want to look servile. "And finally, to the most critical of all. If the magi and the clerics are key to the war, how much more critical are you? Everything I have heard since coming here is about the courage and skill of Flobovia's soldiers. I've been told that, were we outnumbered only two to one instead of five to one, Flobovia would be fine." Another flat lie, but whatever. "Unfortunately, that's not the hand we've been dealt."

I paused to let the compliment, and the grim words that followed it, sink in. I needed them thinking about the danger, not about my attack on one of their own. When I saw some of the anger easing, I continued.

"Flobovia cannot possibly win this war without your support, and so I ask you to stand behind your nation. If we work together, it will save the lands we all love, and the lives of the people who live and work and pay taxes there. With your help, we will smash this enemy into dust. With your help, we will crush them utterly. With your help, we can _kill_ their men, _take_ their gold, and divide up their magic items as we see fit. But all this—only with your help." I gave them a wink and nodded respectfully towards the other groups. "With, of course, significant shares in those magic items going to the clerics and magi as well. I think it only fair that each mage receive copies of all spell books we find, and the Church receive all healing items, don't you? But the remainder shall be divided among those soldiers that earn them by force of arms." God that was flowery and overly dramatic, but I thought it might fit this culture.

Surprise and sudden thoughtful interest spread around the room. I stood silent, with the best impression I could manage of Sergeant Duncan's evil smile.

After a few moments of avaricious thought, Reynard cleared his throat. "So...you mentioned a strategy you wanted to execute tonight, M'Lord?"

"Yes," I said. Now it was easy to bare my teeth; I was proud of my plan, and it was positively evil. "All the magi with Dedicated Wrights that you know of; I need them in this room, with their Wrights. Right now."

Multiple Sendings flew out from each of the three Archmagi. Less than five minutes later, there was a series of 'Bamf!' sounds, and three men in robes stood in our midst, rubbing sleep from their eyes and clutching pot-bellied clay figures that waved their stubby limbs like fussy toddlers.

I was unpleasantly surprised that there were only three of them, but I hid it. Turning to a scribe, I mumbled a list at him, then took his paper and handed it to the couriers. "Get me three sets of this gear. Fast."

Couriers sprinted off, and I turned back to the three new arrivals. "Gentlemen," I said. "I have a proposition for you..."


	6. chapter 6

_**Author's Note:**_ _The science in this chapter is accurate for the scenario described. You can experiment with different scenarios at http tinyurl com slash 2847ff5_

 _Blah blah blah disclaimer._

* * *

Far, far above the earth, six figures appeared. Three of them, human mages all, vanished precisely six seconds later, leaving the others gazing down at the soft blue curve of the world below. Immediately, the unforgiving pull of gravity reached out to pull them tightly into its embrace.

The three figures, each a mile higher than the previous one, quickly oriented themselves parallel to the earth and spreadeagled, as though lying with their pot bellies on a mattress. The lowest had a bit more trouble than the others, flailing its stubby clay limbs and tumbling, but it eventually mastered the trick. The three moved into a rough formation, the Continual Flame spells on their heads making it easy for each to track the others, especially through the nearly-nonexistent air at this altitude.

A cup tied to the forehead of the topmost figure dragged with it an Arcane Eye that relayed all of this to a mage named Davis, who repeated what he saw into the Major Image that surrounded him. Three dozen people watched the Image and held their breath in rapt attention.

For something the size of a Dedicated Wright, falling from one hundred miles above the earth takes around seven minutes. The fall was quite peaceful, much like resting on a featherbed. Occasionally, the wind sent one or another of the constructs into gut-wrenching tumbles until they could stabilize, but it was manageable. And always, there was the raging rush of the wind, like an upside-down waterfall pouring past; the sound, relayed by Davis, bounced off the walls of the the War Room in a cacophony of echoes.

Four minutes into its fall, the lowest Wright could see the Deorsi encampment as a splotch of color below and to one side. Immediately, its controlling mage angled it slightly to fall on a slant, sliding closer to its target; the others shifted to follow.

As the distance closed, more detail could be seen. The location of the tents in the center of the camp, larger and more ornate than those of the common troops, became clear. Immediately, all three Wrights shifted into a head-down position, slashing towards those tents like thunderbolts.

One after another, the three homunculi unstrapped the heavy iron boxes fastened to their chests, flipped them horizontal, and slid the side off. The moment the box opened, the Greater Glyph of Warding inscribed within detonated in a soundless blast of mystic energy and suddenly the clay figures did not fall alone. Balanced on each metal box was a giant block of iron, under an inch thick but yards high and wide. The wind grabbed the Walls of Iron in a giant hand, flipping them upwards to tumble behind their creators.

By now, the Wrights were moving like demonic bats racing out of Hell, and the Walls came in with the same velocity. Within seconds, the atmosphere around their plummeting metallic forms shredded, hiding each of them from sight in a shockwave of plasma that lit up the night like three small suns.

What struck the Deorsi encampment was not a series of bombs; it was three individual cataclysms. Each titanic strike produced a crater nearly three hundred feet wide and over sixty feet deep, with a layer of smashed rock and powder reaching down another thirty feet. Much of the powder and crushed rock blasted outwards from the craters like a claymore mine sized for a god. All the soldiers nearest the crater were hit by the rock shards and blown to mulch; from there, the shards continued their upward arc before slashing back down and slicing yet another huge swath of Deorsi soldiers into bloody shreds. The powdered rock fell over everything near and far, mercifully hiding the shredded bodies but also burying living humans and horses alive in suffocating dust.

The blast of rock and powder was mostly fan-shaped, and therefore missed the majority of the army. The hurricane of air blast, however, was circular. A hammer blow of wind blasted out in all directions at four hundred miles an hour, striking without warning. The winds picked up anything in their way—people, loose weapons, cooking pots full of bubbling hot stew, tents, horses—and flung them into the sky, flipping them around like clothes in a dryer before dropping them. Most of the army was affected; thousands died, their lungs ruptured by the wind or their bodies smashed when they fell. Those who survived had broken limbs, internal bleeding, and other damage ranging from serious to life-threatening. Anyone caught between the two nearby craters was hit by both airblasts and ground to paste.

The only good news from the Deorsi perspective was that these were not nuclear strikes; there was no radiation or significant thermal bloom. Despite that, everything inside the craters was simply gone—including the tents of the commanders, senior magi, and senior clerics.

Whoops of joy spread through the Flobovian War Room. The Walls had struck in sequence, allowing the higher Wrights to adjust their aim before summoning their own Wall. The first had landed just beyond the edge of the army, killing or injuring no more than a few thousand common troops. A quick glance upward by the topmost Wright showed that the third Wall was well off course—probably tumbled by a wind gust—and was likely to miss the Deorsi encanpment entirely. The second one, steered by sheer luck or possibly direct divine intervention, landed square in the middle of the senior officers' tents, wiping away the key strategic and magical resources of the enemy like a cook wipes up a minor spill.

All this was relayed in high fidelity, Dolby surround sound, filling the room around us as though we stood in the middle of the action. The cheering continued for minutes with everyone, including the normally reserved Landguard, whooping like mad.

Personally, I felt horror at what I had done. I bit it back though; as Thomas had told me, it was critical to morale that I seem brilliant, wise, and courageous. I was pretty sure that puking on my shoes would not seem courageous, although it certainly struck me as wise. I tried to look casual as I shoved my hands into my back pockets so that no one could see how sweaty and shaky they were.

The owners of the Wrights had been wounded by the magical backlash when their constructs were destroyed, but the Archpriest himself healed them immediately. Even before the healing, the wounded mages were cheering and congratulating me on my brilliance.

Forcing myself to look calm, I turned to Duke Frederick, who was still cradling his shattered hand by the map table. It had been over an hour since I had told Duncan to crush his hand; during that entire time he had remained silent and immobile; the deep lines on his face showing that his hand had him in agony.

Now I waved Duncan away from the Duke, who promptly collapsed. I bowed to the Archpriest, asking "Your Benevolence, would you please heal Duke Frederick?" The high priest nodded, moved to Frederick, and murmured soft words. The familiar golden glow—far brighter than my own healing had been—wrapped around them both. When it faded, Frederick's hand was whole, with not even a bruise. His breathing eased and his legs lost their shakes; clearly the healing had handled more than just the wound itself.

He looked at me, eyes narrowed and unsure. I moved to stand by him and held out my hand to help him up. "Won't you join us, Your Grace? I really would appreciate your advice."

He stared at me a moment longer, then took my hand and climbed to his feet. "Thank you, M'Lord. It would be my pleasure." His voice was stiff with barely disguised rage, but there was some grudging respect as well. I supposed the respect was from the success of my bombing tactic...as to the rage, well, I wouldn't be too happy with someone who maimed me and then left me wallowing in pain and humiliation in front of my peers.

I clapped him on the shoulder in the best impersonation I could manage of a macho brotherly way; I have a feeling it was pathetic, but I'm a whitebread geek from the suburbs, not a jock or one of those troublemaking "rebel without a cause" types. I turned to the map table, one hand inviting him to join me.

Glancing at the mage waiting quietly in his chair, I requested "Davis, please give us a map of the Deorsi's location, the Fens, and the Maligaw."

The mage murmured words that melted from my brain the moment I heard them and suddenly the map table surface became three dimensional, showing the approximate features of the terrain in that area. It wasn't to scale and the Deorsi army was just a rough blob but it was better than a flat depiction. Presumably the issues were due to Davis's unfamiliarity with the actual terrain.

I frowned unhappily at the crude map; more detail would have helped. But, you work with what you've got. "This first strike was succesful, Your Grace, but I would appreciate your input on what you think the Deorsi will do next. I have a trap in mind, but I'm unsure where the best place is to put it."

He looked at me and frowned. I could almost read his thoughts—was I seriously asking his input and showing him respect after the way I had treated him? I met his gaze with as open and interested a face as I could manage, but it probably fell flat; I was far beyond the scenarios I had prepared for, I was exhausted from a long day and the beating Sergeant Duncan had given me, and my calm was blowing away like confetti on the wind. Without it, being in this room with all eyes upon me felt like being a child dressed up in his father's clothes to sneak into a cocktail party.

His eyes finally broke from mine and shifted down to study the illusionary map before us. After a moment he nodded firmly to himself, then turned back to me.

"The Deorsi are a professional army; we eliminated the senior ranks, but the chain of command will devolve to someone. It's going to take a couple of days to sort that out, find everyone, determine who's alive and dead, dig out the troops and supplies from under all that rock and dust and whatever else.

"Were I in command, I would guess that the attack must have been directed from Capital City. I would immediately detach a sizable group, all mounted, to launch the fastest possible strike against the City before the attack could be repeated. Reports suggest that their cavalry screen is about four thousand men; personally, I would dispatch all of them, with mages and clerics in tow.

"A force that small will need substantial magical support to have any chance of taking our defenses, so they can't afford to have their magic drained. They'll avoid the Fens and circle east to the Elf Bridge. Once they get across, they'll attempt to negotiate with the elves for passage through the 'Hame to the Great Trade Road. If that can't be accomplished within a day, perhaps two, they will go west and then north. Most likely, they'll be here in ten or fifteen days, but it could be faster if they use the Road." He wound down at last, waiting for my response.

I nodded, trying to look thoughtful and wise instead of pukey and shaky from suppressed stress, emotion, and adrenaline drop. "Thank you, Your Grace. I didn't think of them detaching a strike force. The Maligaw it is, then. I'll need to think on this a bit." I gave him a small head-bow of respect, hoping that I had the style and depth correct to convey 'pleased executive to middle manager.' I'm certain I blew it, but at least I tried.

Turning to the rest of the room, I said "Ladies and gentlemen—thank you for your help. If you'll excuse me, it's been a very long day and I need to bag out. Let's pick this up tomorrow night at sunset; have a good evening all."

I waved all the Landguard to accompany me as I made a strategic retreat from the room.

Outside, I waited for the door to close and then sprinted for the nearest bathroom, where I puked up everything from my hair to my toenails. Toilets in the ruler's castle consist of a straight shaft leading down to a large fire elemental, so shoving your face into one is like holding it against a space heater; nice at first, but it gets unpleasant after a minute or two.

Oddly, Duncan was the one who came into the room with me while the rest of the Landguard stayed outside. He sat on the floor beside me with a comforting hand on my back and waited for me to finish.

"S'all right lad. Get it out; there's no shame in being sick the first time you kill. Everyone is."

The vomiting went on for several long, highly unpleasant minutes. By the time it ended, I just wanted to die. I was shaking from the adrenaline crash and the horror, and the taste of acid and the chunks of half-digested food in my mouth were nearly enough to set me sicking up again.

Duncan handed me a slab-sided drinking vessel and muttered a word under his breath. Immediately, it filled with water; I rinsed my mouth gratefully, repeatedly spitting down the toilet. From below, I heard a yowl of crackling disgruntlement, but I just didn't care. When I finally couldn't taste the puke anymore, I poured some of the still-flowing water over the back of my neck, then handed the decanter back to Duncan, who turned off the flow with another command word.

Weakly, I growled, "So help me, Duncan, if you insist on another of your sessions before noon tomorrow, I'll order the rest of the 'Guard to tie you up and throw you in the nearest dung heap face down."

He snorted a laugh. "You've earned a stay of execution, M'Lord. We'll pick it up tomorrow. Come on, let's get you to bed."

o-o-o-o

Twenty minutes later I was sitting in the armchair in my bedroom, unable to sleep but unable to think either. Instead, I was staring listlessly at Allison, who was crackling cheerily in the fireplace. Amazingly, she was keeping her mouthy comments to herself.

Suze bumped the door open with one hip and backed into the room, carrying a tray laden with food. She slid the tray onto the low table beside me and curtseyed.

"Commander Thomas said you should eat something, M'Lord," she said diffidently.

I looked at the food apathetically; the thought of eating made me vaguely ill. After a moment, a realization leaked slowly into my brain: everything on the tray was something I had eaten since coming here, and enjoyed. And none of it would upset a bad stomach—it was grapes, mild cheeses, fresh breads, a light soup, and lightly spiced warm cider.

"Did you choose this stuff, Suze?"

She blushed and looked at her feet. "Yes, M'Lord. Commander Thomas mentioned that you weren't feeling well, and I remembered you liked these things, so I thought they might help."

"She's good at this, Jake—that's why she's the upstairs maid. Never forget anyone's choices, do you girl?" Allison's tone sounded like a world-wise grandmother's—somewhere between teasing and proud.

I had a really, really attractive idea, but I just didn't have the energy so all I said was "Thanks, Suze, you're a lifesaver. Have a good night."

With a blush and a quick duck of her head, she scurried out of the room. That girl was sweet and kind and helpful but lordy did she need to work on the self-confidence and assertiveness.

I snorted, a tired smile curving my lips. Given my current "relationship" with Sergeant Duncan, I was a fine one to talk about the need for confidence and assertiveness.

I looked at the bed; it was deliciously warm and inviting, but I was just too tired to climb to my feet and walk across the room, so I settled back into my chair and closed my eyes.

I was starting to drift off to sleep when Robert stuck his head in the room. "I don't mean to bother you, M'Lord but I wanted to let you know that the line of commoners you requested is well on their way. We've recruited and dispatched just over eighteen thousand people."

I nodded and thanked him quietly. A commoner railgun didn't actually work as a weapons launcher—the idea that it did required mixing rule exploits and physics in a way that simply didn't work—but it was an incredible transportation and communication tool.

Something about the prior thought lit up a tired neuron somewhere. Weapons launchers, weapons launchers...there was an idea in the back of my brain, but I couldn't see the details. I yawned and looked longingly at the bed again, but shook it off and cudgeled my brain for the basics of whatever this idea was. After a minute or so, it rose through the sludge until I could see it. I checked the Brainopedia again for the spells I would need.

"Hmm. Before you go to bed, pass the word. Tomorrow I'm going to need a whole lot of magic—a Wall of Force, a Permanceny, and every Wall of Iron, Fireball, Mending, Shrink Item, and electrical spell we can scare up—Shocking Grasp, Lightning Bolt, wands, staves, scrolls, spellcasters—whatever. Also, about fifty thousand copper pieces, a lot of workmen, and a bunch of carpenters with big logs. I need some cranes built." I pushed myself tiredly to my feet and trudged to the small desk in the corner. Grabbing a piece of parchment, I sketched on it quickly with a quill pen, then threw the drawing away with a curse as the ink splotched everywhere. A couple more attempts and I finally got the hang of writing with a feather. I was no artist, but I managed to produce a rough sketch with only a few stray inkblobs. "Doesn't have to be pretty, just really strong—needs to support a few tons. Put 'em in whereever the biggest open space in the city is; we're going to need a lot of room."

Robert looked at the list puzzled. "Are you going to try another of those 'orbital strikes'?"

I shook my head. "No, those only work if there's some kind of guidance system and the target isn't moving much. We seem to be out of Dedicated Wrights with no way to make more in time, and I'm not sure what we could use in place of them. Also, the Dedicated Wrights were a pretty crude system—the first Wall barely hit, the third probably missed entirely, and we got lucky with the second."

I yawned and rubbed my eyes. "Ok, I'm wiped. I'm heading for bed; have a good night, Robert." He gave a polite nod and turned for the door.

I started to climb into bed, when there came a pointed "Ahem!" from the fireplace. "So following you around all day isn't embarrasing enough, now I have to sit here all night and listen to you snore?"

I grinned sleepily. "Go ahea—actually, hang on a moment. Robert?"

He paused, hand on the latch, and looked back. "Yes, M'Lord?"

"Look, I know playing courier isn't your job, but would you mind asking around among the servants to see if anyone would be willing to sit up tonight and keep Allison company? In exchange, they could have tomorrow off with full pay."

He raised an eyebrow. "Of course, M'Lord." And then he was gone, the door closing quietly behind him.

If a fire can look shocked, Allison did. After a moment though, she got her snark back on. "Thanks, pup. There's hope for you yet," she told me. Under the snarkiness was gratitude though.

I smiled sleepily and snuggled into my big fluffy pillow. "G'night Allison. You can go, and have a nice evening."


	7. chapter 7

_**Author's Note**_ _: This chapter is another visit with the inimitable Sergeant Duncan. It's not as intense as the previous one, but if you are particularly sensitive you might want to skip it._

* * *

"WAKE UP YOU STUPID MAGGOT! ON YOUR FEET!"

I was out of bed on pure reflex before my brain even engaged. Thank god I sleep in a shirt and skivvies.

"STAND STRAIGHT YOU WORTHLESS PILE OF CRAP! DO NOT ALLOW THE THOUGHT OF MOVEMENT TO CROSS YOUR TINY MAGGOT BRAIN OR I _WILL_ DIG THAT THOUGHT OUT OF YOUR BRAIN THROUGH YOUR EYEBALL!" Duncan's face was about half an inch from my nose; his spit was flying all over me and his breath stank to high heaven of garlic and onions, so bad it made my eyes water.

"ARE YOU _CRYING_ YOU WUSS-ASS LITTLE PANSY? BADASS RULERS OF THIS PROUD NATION DO NOT CRY LIKE MOMMA'S BOYS! IF I WANT YOU TO CRY, I WILL GIVE YOU CAUSE!" He belted me in the stomach, knocking the wind right out of me. I doubled over, arms crossed over my belly as I tried and failed to suck in a breath.

"I SAID STAND STRAIGHT, YOU FESTERING DOG TURD!" He grabbed my collar and yanked me upright, but I physically could not straighten up. When I failed, he backhanded me across the face, knocking me to the ground again.

I was still trying to get air in my lungs; he gave me a couple of seconds, then kicked me hard in the thigh. "I SAID UP!" Another two or three seconds, another kick. "UP, YOU GOATLICKER!" Nine or ten kicks later my leg felt like pulped meat but I was finally able to get a breath again.

Another kick, another insult; I could have stood up and just taken it, but red rage was pouring through me and washing away any concern for consequences. I tangled my legs in his and rolled to the side to bring him crashing down.

Or, at least, I tried to. I made him fall, but he rolled smoothly out of it and came up on the other side of the room.

Where he proceeded to stand up straight, smiling beatifically. Damnit.

"Finally! I was wondering what it was going to take to get you to hit back!"

I was still fuming, but I kept myself still. Yesterday had taught me that attacking Sergeant Duncan with anything less than a howitzer was a losing proposition. After a moment, something occured to me; I smiled evilly at him. "Out of curiosity Sergeant, what time is it?"

His response was prompt. "Three a.m. Your Mighty Lordship sir; time for eager young trainees to be up and about, learning to man up." It was positively revolting how disgustingly chipper he sounded. Evil, but chipper. Someone ate his Evil-O's this morning.

"Ok, look. Clearly, I still can't handle this stuff when I'm surprised, but I _can_ if I've got thirty seconds to myself to get prepped; I think I showed that in the War Room, with Duke Frederick. Will you give me a chance to show you?"

Duncan stared at me for a long moment, considering. Finally he shrugged fatalistically and crossed his arms, tossing his head head slightly to the door. I limped past him and stepped outside, closing the door gently behind me. Right outside were four Landguard that I didn't recognize, standing guard at my door. Much like Robert, Rob, Bob, and Aerith, these four all looked like heavily armed walking walls.

"Excuse me, guys. Which one of you is senior here?" I asked.

The one at the left front stood to attention. "Sergeant Madison sir. What can we do for you?"

"Would you please go get...oh, let's say, ten Landguards and have them report here on the double? When they get here, all of you come right in. Don't bother to knock."

He didn't bat an eye. "Certainly, M'Lord." A few brief words and one of those smoke sparrows went winging off.

I limped back inside, closing the door slowly and softly. Duncan was waiting with a positively thunderous expression on his face. "Done with your little breather, pissant? 'Cause we sure ain't done here."

"Thanks for giving me a second to gather up. I'm fine now, and good to go. Before we start, though, could you just answer a couple questions for me? I learn faster when I understand the context."

He rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Fine. What d'you want to know, wuss?"

"Well," I paused, collecting my thoughts. "You've been doing this—training new recruits, that is—for a long time, right?"

"Twenty three years. What's that got to do with anything?"

I shrugged. "Just getting a sense of things. You're good at your job, I just wanted to understand how you got that experience, why you do it this particular way, what kind of problems most of your recruits have—that kind of thing. If I know, then I can avoid those mistakes and get where we're going faster. Was this the way you were trained?"

He snorted. "Nah. My DI was a hardass; nowadays there's this new idea that recruits should be coddled. 'Use the stick _and_ the carrot, Sergeant' says the Commander. So I have to be all soft on 'em."

I whistled and shook my head slowly with a rueful smile. "If this is soft, Sergeant, I shudder to think what you consider hard."

He grunted with just the tiniest hint of shared humor. Then he stepped forward. "Ok, pissbucket, that's enough jawing. Time to get back to work."

I held up my hands in a 'stop' gesture. "Hang on, hang on. Just a couple more things."

He shifted his weight back, one toe tapping. "Make it quick."

"Sorry, sorry, didn't mean to waste your time. My bad. Anyway, um..." I paused, frowning as though I'd lost my train of thought. "Ah, right, I remember. You're teaching me to deal with confrontation, right?"

"Damn straight. Can't have a ruler that lets people walk all over him."

"You're absolutely right. Thanks for the training, by the way...it hurts like hell, but I think it's helping, don't you?"

He snorted again and tossed his head in a small shrug. "Damned if I know. Yesterday I had to actually stand at attention before you'd man up and do anything but get your ass kicked. Today you just lay there while I kicked the crap out of you. Eventually you at least tried to hit back but it was the most limp-wristed attack I've ever seen. If you keep going at this rate we'll all be dead of old age by the time you learn."

I smiled sadly. "Yeah, probably true. It's been a problem all my life, honestly. Anyway, the real thing I wanted to ask you was—" Just then the door opened and two full squads of Landguard piled through.

"Gentlemen, please come in," I grinned, inviting the armed and armored defensive line of the Greenbay Packers farther into the room.

Duncan didn't look even vaguely surprised. If anything, he seemed to sigh.

"Would you all be so kind as to restrain Sergeant Duncan for me?" They moved in on him, looking none too sanguine about the idea. A moment later, all eleven of them were in a frenzied scrum, moving too fast for me to follow. It took a few seconds, and when it ended five of the new arrivals were disabled on the ground, but Duncan was face down on the carpet, two men kneeling on his legs while a third cranked his arms up behind him with a knee on his neck for control.

I walked up to Duncan, gently getting down on the carpet and stretching out in front of him, my chin on my folded hands and my legs kicking up behind me like a kid watching cartoons. I knew taunting was tacky, but I really couldn't help myself. I smiled at him sweetly. "Sergeant, I'd like to thank you very much for the teaching you've been giving me. It's really helping a lot," I told him in a butter-wouldn't-melt-in-my-mouth tone. "If you don't mind though, I'd like to offer a few suggestions. First off, you might want to learn the difference between three a.m. and noon. Second, go look up the word 'stalling'. Third...don't mess with engineers. We're sneaky, and we always keep our promises."

I turned to the Landguard who were restraining Duncan. "Would you all be so kind as to throw Sergeant Duncan in the nearest dungheap?"

The one I had spoken to didn't bat an eye. "Face up or face down, M'Lord?"

"Oh, face down, by all means. And please make sure he's conscious for it."

Duncan was struggling now and cursing a blue streak, but the troops didn't seem to care. One of the ones that had been on the floor pushed himself to his feet with a groan and led the way out the door; three of the others carried Duncan out face down, his arms and legs securely tied. There was a little trouble getting them all out the door while carrying Duncan, but they managed. A few minutes later, a pair of clerics came in, fixed my leg, healed the unconscious 'Guards, and led them away.

Me? I went back to bed and slept the sleep of the righteously avenged.


	8. chapter 8

_**Author's Note**_ _: I continue to lack success in failing to not own D &D._

* * *

I woke up just as the sun was cracking the horizon, feeling much refreshed. Stretching with a huge yawn, I paced into the bathroom and climbed into a long hot shower, letting the water beat on my face and wash away all the stress of my situation for at least a little while.

Eventually, my valet knocked softly and called "May I aid you with your dress, M'Lord?"...which pretty much blew away any calm I had built up.

I called back through the door that no, thank you, I would be fine on my own. Having him dress me yesterday had been way too creepy and infantilizing; I was not about to put up with it again. It took a couple of times repeating the order, but eventually he went away.

My calm thoroughly ruined, I got out and toweled off, pulled my clothes on (which, of course, took me three times as long as if he'd helped; I still wasn't used to dressing like an escapee from Ye Olde Renn Faire) and paced outside, still toweling my hair. My mouth felt like a herd of goats had slept in it; I really missed toothbrushes and Aquafresh. I made a mental note to ask one of the magi for a Prestidigitation. Hey, if my dentist could clean my teeth with floss, some robe-wearing pointy hat could brush them with a bit of arcane juju.

I started reviewing all the things I wanted to do today; pretty quickly the list spiraled so hugely out of control that everything except the top item or two were lost. Well, I thought I knew the answer to that.

I leaned out the door to one of the Landguard. "Could you ask Suze to come up here please? Thanks." I retreated inside, already lost in thought, and sat staring at Allison's cheerfully crackling form.

Something hit me and all of a sudden I was leaning forward excitedly. "Hey Allison, the terms of your binding—there was something in there about providing light anywhere I asked for, right?"

"Wow, only twenty four hours since you were told the terms and you've forgotten them already. You meatsacks...memories like steel traps, all of you. Pity they're rusted open."

I snerked at her flippant smack talk but persisted. "Seriously, repeat your exact Binding for me."

She rattled it off again; I interrupted her in the middle.

"There we go! Booya! Age of the geek, baby—we _will_ spot the loopholes! Ok, Allison, think about this for a second: it says that you have to provide light and heat 'from whatever location the ruler requires'. So, I could require you to provide light in Thomas's room and you could send him a message for me, right?"

She blew a spark-carrying raspberry at me. "Bzzzt! Thank you for playing, please try again! Remember the bit about 'When not needed, this elemental shall return directly to the circle of its summoning'? If you don't need me to provide light here, I have to go to the circle, I can't go anywhere else. That 'whereever you require' directive is talking about me being in the fireplace, on a torch, whatever."

I shook my head, determined to convince her. "But going back to the circle is in direct contradiction to the part about providing the light 'from whatever location' I require it. If I explicitly require you to provide light in another room then clearly you are needed, so the rule about going back to the circle when not needed doesn't apply, right?"

Had she had a face, I'm pretty sure her jaw would have been sagging at this thought.

"Yeah, well, ok, I guess. But why should I pass your messages, huh? I'm not your errand girl. I'm not even a girl at all, come to think of it, and thank Fire for that. You meatbags and all your icky plumbing—and I'm talking about the the boys and the girls here, so don't get any cute ideas."

I grinned at her; it was great having someone who didn't get all bow-y and scrape-y about the M'Lord thing. "Well, how about just as a favor? I'd really appreciate it."

"Bite me, man-boy. Sounds intensely stupid, to me—not like my current life isn't degrading enough, now I have to be at your beck and call? I don't think so!"

My grin slipped. "Look, this would really help with the war effort, Allison. And given that I made sure you get tasty food instead of crap and I arranged for someone to keep you company at night so you aren't bored, doesn't it seem like it might be a decent thing to do?"

Again with the raspberry. "Pound sand, you big ball'o'meatcrap! Like I want to help you; I've been in this loony rockpile acting as a glorified campfire for five centuries with no end in sight. You think I want to play errand girl to some balding ape with a saggy belly and nothing to keep a lady happy?"

My voice got softer and I smiled; her attitude on this was starting to annoy me. "Well, you might do this because I'm happy to pay you for it, in pretty much whatever you want to be paid in."

"Hmm, well, I'll think about it, waterbag. Sounds pretty boring though. Personally, if I'm going to start playing games with interpreting my binding, I think I'd rather just set your bed on fire some night. Be damned entertaining watching you burn." Her voice was taking on a nasty edge.

I was smiling wider, and it was not a friendly smile. "Allison, I'd really appreciate it if you could make this a little less personal. I think this is a pretty reasonable request, and I'm offering to pay for it. If you don't want to do it, just say no. But cut out the attitude."

"Bite me, sweatpouch. I'm not doing a damn thing for your stupid fat ass except light and heat—and that's only because I'm magically compelled to. You think I _like_ you, you stinking ape? You think I like hanging around you, listening to you yap and yap and yap? You come in here and immediately start getting on your high horse, shoving all your so-called 'good ideas' down everyone's throats. You think you're some kind of military genius? _You?_ You said it yourself—you're nothing but a mediocre web programmer, meatball. You're not qualified for this job in any way. Tens of thousands of people are going to die, and it's going to be _your_ fault. Dumbass." She started off sneering and by the end she was practically snorting her derision.

I leaned forward, staring at her very intently. I was beyond infuriated; I had passed straight through red rage into that place of complete ice where consequences and morality stop seeming important. When I spoke, my voice was very soft and I was no longer smiling. "You _will_ be my messenger, and you _will_ do the job to my satisfaction. And you will _never_ disrespect me again. Because if you piss me off one more time, I'll have them refrigerate your summoning circle and I'll brick up the door so you're trapped there, alone in the freezing dark, forever."

She let out a deep belly laugh, flaring higher for a moment before damping herself back down. "Ha! Thanks, Jake! You just won me a month's supply of dried flowers. I told Duncan you wouldn't put up with this crap but he didn't believe me. When he asks, make sure you tell him exactly what you said! It'll be so much better that way."

Now I was confused, which made me even angrier. "What the hell are you talking about, Allison?"

The flames danced cheerfully; I almost imagined I could see a repeated fist-pump going on. "Sergeant Duncan bet me that no matter how hard I pushed you, you wouldn't drop the hammer on me, you'd just give up. I told him that was chicken feathers; I'm way more annoying than that! I am the brightly shining Mistress of Annoying, for yea, I have worked most hard at my annoying-ness, I have studied under the Great Master Fu'ko-ov himself and practised his demanding Way of the Annoying diligently for centuries!" She started shifting back and forth in the fireplace grate, apparently her version of a victory dance. "Oh yeah, who's the elemental? Who's the elemental? That's right, it's me. It's me! Oh Duncan, pay up sucker, a whole month of yummy yummy dried flowers!"

By this point I was having to laugh at her antics, just about all of my anger gone. Clearly, I'd been suckered; it was just another of Duncan's little "decisiveness-building" exercises. Bastard.

"Ok, you got me. Now, all kidding aside, would you be willing to do it?"

"Hells yeah! Sounds fantastic, getting to bounce around the castle, talk to lots of people, see things that aren't just the room you're in." Suddenly her tone changed, becoming elaborately casual. "Oh, of course I'll expect that honorarium you mentioned—something modest like, say...a diet consisting of nothing but dried wildflowers, dried grasses, anthracite, and well-seasoned cherry wood. Plus four attendants per night when I'm in my circle who talk to me on subjects of my choosing."

I snorted. "Yeah, no. We're fresh out of 'the sun, the moon, and the stars', sorry. But if you give me a list of what you like for munching, I'll make sure we have a supply on hand. And I'm not going to force anyone to sit up with you, but I'll definitely let everyone know that you'd enjoy it, and that I'll give any servant who does so the next day off with pay—but only one servant a day."

"It's a deal. Light on it?" I looked puzzled, so she explained. "Grab a long splinter off the kindling pile there and hold it over here so I can light it. Let it burn as big as you can, then blow it out while it's still big. It's how elementals seal an important deal".

I shrugged and did as she asked, selecting a thick splinter about a foot long and holding it as close to her flames as I could stand. A long jet of fire curled out of the fireplace and played across the tip of it until there was a good flame going.

I held the splinter at a slight angle so the flame grew larger as it climbed up the wood toward my hand. I kept turning it so that it grew large, blackening all the wood almost to my fingers. When it got too close, I took a big breath and blew it out like a giant birthday candle.

"Congratulations, Jake. We just birthed an Elemental," Allison said softly.

I looked at her in surprise. "What?"

"Every fire that burns, anywhere in all the worlds of all the planes, from the stars in the sky to the tiniest spark crackling from a match—all these are part of my home, the Elemental Plane of Fire. When a fire dies, it returns home and becomes some part of the Eternal Flame—most become simple background radiation, while a few become part of the lifecycle. But those few have no sapience, no thought; they are much like the plants and animals of your world. We Elementals live alongside and above those others, but we are not of them; it's much the way you humans live alongside but above rabbits and wolves.

"Only a tiny number of Elementals exist on my plane at any time...because an Elemental is born only when a fire is created by the gift of Flame from an Elemental's body and extinguished by the gift of Air from a sapient non-Elemental's breath. And even then, the new Elemental is usually tiny, nothing more than a spark. Easy prey for any of the 'animals' of my home. But the larger the flame that was extinguished, the larger the new Elemental...and the one we just birthed was relatively large for a newborn. The new little salamander will be fine until she finds other Elementals to blaze with."

I smiled softly, feeling just a bit misty-eyed. "Thank you, Allison. That's beautiful," I murmured.

Just then there came a knock at my door and Suze slipped inside.

"Hey Suze, I wanted to ask you a favor—" I started before fully registering the oddity. Instead of her usual uniform she was wearing an amazing dress. Clearly her best, it was all streams of deep blues and gentle greens flowing together from neck to heel. A bit of lace showed off the modest bodice quite nicely. With her natural slender curves she looked like a starlet. Except that her eyes were huge and she was visibly shaking.

I stared at the dress for a moment, then at her, until it clicked.

"Relax girl, I just want to talk. You're way too young for me and I'd like to think I still have a few morals," I told her acerbically.

She stared at me, clearly wondering if this was some kind of ploy or game, but slowly calmed down as she realized that I really wasn't going to demand sex. She very slowly took the chair I gestured to, perching right on the edge with her back ramrod straight and her hands folded white-knuckled in her lap.

I sighed and rubbed my eyes tiredly. "Seriously, would you please relax? I'm not going to eat you, shout at you, or threaten to have you flogged with a wet noodle...much less demand that you have sex with me. You're too young, I'm too old, and I'm your boss. So relax, for God's sake."

"Oh, for the love of Fire, Jake!" Allison yelled at me from the fireplace. "Put yourself in her shoes—she's the upstairs maid, you're the ruler of Flobovia. Do you know how many nobles drag the pretty maids off to their rooms at night? It's so common that when your message got to her she took the time to change into her Sunday dance dress before coming up, so that you were more likely to be pleased and not beat her. By the way, Suze, great dress. You're good with a needle, girl." Then Allison rounded on me again. "And then you say that you want to talk instead of have sex—she has no idea what you want to talk to her about, so she's petrified that you're going to yell at her or she's not going to know what you're talking about and she'll look like a fool. And you want her to relax?!"

I thumped my head on the back of the chair a few times in exasperation. Then I sat forward again.

"Look, Suze, I just wanted to ask you about your memory. You remembered my food preferences, and Allison's, and now that I think about it, you greeted each of those scribes and couriers in the sitting room by name and handed them specific items off the tray; not everyone got the same stuff. Can you do that with everyone?"

She nodded shyly. "Yes, M'Lord. I've always had a good memory, particularly for people—names, faces, foods, that kind of thing. And I was born in the castle and grew up here, so I know almost everyone."

"How about dates and things to do? Are you good with those too?"

She nodded mutely.

I couldn't have been more delighted. "Excellent! Suze, would you be willing to take a promotion? I'm terrible with all of the things you're good at; would you be willing to do them for me? I really, really need a personal assistant—someone who can help me remember what I need to do, where I need to be when, remind me of people's names so that I don't look stupid talking to them—that kind of thing."

She looked bewildered. "M'Lord...I don't know anything about politics, or etiquette, or any of that. I wouldn't know how to—" she trailed off, unsure of how to finish; her hands twisted nervously in her lap.

I shook my head and held my hands up to ward the thought away. "No, no, I'm not asking you to do anything political. And I suspect that growing up in the castle you've absorbed a lot more of the etiquette than I know. But forget that; I just need you to stick close to me through the day and remind me of things I might have forgotten—where I need to be, when I need to get ready for a meeting, that kind of thing. And most importantly, help me with names and faces. I want people to feel glad about having me as their ruler, and part of that is showing that I remember them. Which, unfortunately, I am _really_ bad at. So I'd like you to help me. For example—if someone is coming up to me, whisper their name to me so I can greet them when they arrive, maybe the name of their wife so I can ask after her, that sort of thing. Unless it's, you know, Thomas, Reynard, or other people that you're sure I know. Would you mind doing that?"

She nodded spasmodically. "As you wish, M'Lord."

My lip twitched for a moment in disgruntlement but I made the effort to smooth my face out and put on a reassuring smile. The poor thing was terrified enough; scaring her further would be counterproductive.

"Suze, you really don't need to do this unless you want to. I would appreciate it, and I'm happy to triple your pay and give you whatever other perks you want in exchange. But if the thought of it scares you too much, just say so and I promise I won't push you on it or hold it against you." Suddenly, inspiration struck. "Allison, would you please chime in?"

The fire elemental spoke soothingly. "It's ok, Suze. He means it; if you don't want to do it, you don't have to. Personally, I think it would be good for you, child; it would help you build up your confidence."

She looked back at me; her eyes were still huge, but now there was a hint of a smile—a very nervous, uncertain smile, but a smile nonetheless. She nodded slowly. "Yes, M'Lord. I'd be glad to."

I grinned. "Cool!"

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

I gave Suze the morning off so she could go buy herself a wardrobe suitable for mingling with the hoity-toity types; I sent one of the Landguard with her to carry stuff and make sure she didn't get mugged.

Meanwhile, I ordered some breakfast, then sat at the desk making notes and getting my thoughts in order. The Deorsi were probably still digging out from under the rubble, so we had a few more days on that front. Also, no matter how elite they were, the cavalry screen probably couldn't be organized, given their orders, equipped for long-distance travel, and dispatched within the next day, possibly two. There were four thousand of them, after all, and magi and clerics would need to be located and attached to their force.

Once they left their encampment, of course, they would be on us fast. It was going to be critical to slow them down. And right now, I had absolutely no idea how to do that. No magical effect I could think of would have both the area and the power, and I didn't think we could get enough troops there in time to stop them physically.

After about an hour of staring blankly at a blank sheet of paper, I sighed, climbed to my feet, and trudged downstairs, my Landguard escorts following silently. Along the way Thomas, Duncan, and a squad of eight Landguard "just happened" to bump into us and decide to tag along. Apparently Thomas was feeling overprotective—or perhaps this was his not-so-subtle way of expressing his irritation with me for arguing with him yesterday about the size of my protective detail. And so it was that I was surrounded by an entire wall of living cuisinarts when we reached the Plaza of Remembrance.

The largest open space in the city, the Plaza was a perfect circle two hundred yards across, floored in slate and surrounded by the homes of the richest citizens. The slates had been brought from every corner of Flobovia, and each was colored slightly differently, reflecting the minerals in the ground where it was mined...and, symbolically, the diversity and unity of the nation. The natives were too accustomed to it to look twice but to me it was beautiful and eye-misting and simultaneously as intimidating as hell.

In the very center of the square loomed a ziggurat of rough cut granite surmounted by a slender quartz spike twenty feet high. Every surface of the ziggurat was carved, in intricate detail, with the earliest history of Flobovia. Deeply chiseled into its rough surface were the names of every one of the fifteen hundred men, women, and children who had first settled on this spot fifty-eight centuries ago. Details of their lives and deaths, their family trees for four generations, descriptions of the pains and hardships, the triumphs and joys, records of the food they had struggled to grow and the famines and deaths that followed when their first three crops failed. All that and more were carved deep into the sides of those black stone walls. The milky white quartz at the top caught the sun throughout the day, splitting it and reflecting it in all directions so that faint rainbows marched slowly around the Plaza as the sun westered, fading only as night fell.

At the very topmost level, carved into each side of the granite base that supported the quartz, was a quote from the woman who had led the original hegira to what was now the proud nation of Flobovia...which, at the time, had been nothing more than a shanty town. It was written in a dialect so old only scholars understood it, but every citizen of Flobovia knew it by heart:

 _I must study politics and war that our children may have liberty to study mathematics and science. Our children ought to study mathematics and science, geography, natural history, commerce, and agriculture, in order to give their children a right to study painting, poetry, music, architecture, statuary, tapestry, and porcelain._

The Plaza was reserved space. Merchants were free to set up around the perimeter, but no trade was allowed on the actual slates. That space was reserved for political lectures, military training, political debates, poetry recitals, artistic schools and endeavors, and the annual Festival of Remembrance.

I hadn't realized what a furor it would cause when I had ordered that the cranes be set up in "the largest open space in the city." An actual mob, thousands strong, had formed to protest this violation of tradition. The issue had finally been settled when Thomas went out with a small honor guard of the oldest, toughest, most honored members of the Landguard. All of them had been weaponless, in their formal uniforms, marching in precise lockstep. Each 'Guard save Thomas held the banners of their companies at the precisely correct angle. The mob had quieted upon seeing them; they knew these men and women, and respected them.

Thomas had climbed the ziggurat to its first level, turned, and waited. After a moment, the mob was completely silent, waiting to hear what their champion would say. Thomas had spoken of the threat that the Deorsi posed to the Land, of how the cranes were a part of a strategy conceived by the ruler himself to protect all the citizens from this threat. He had been completely forthright, admitting that he did not know what their exact purpose was. But he described the bombing I had executed, and its devastating impact on the enemy. And then, after a moment, he had stated that he had faith that the cranes would serve the Land. And then he simply stood, silent. After a long moment, the mob turned, still silent, and left.

I learned all this later that night, after all the 'fun' was long over. When I heard, I was humbled, and thanked Thomas for his efforts; he shrugged my thanks off, saying only "Instead of thanking me, save them."

For today, however, I arrived at the Plaza to find several hundred people waiting—about a hundred casters of various levels, another couple of hundred apprentices, a whole lot of carpenters and stevedors, and even more curious civilians watching. Unsurprisingly, the Plaza was ringed with vendors of all sorts, eager to capitalize on the crowd. Fruit, beer, meat, trinkets, clothing, medicines, even pets—it seemed like everything imaginable was on sale somewhere on the perimeter of the slates.

The carpenters—only a small group, here to fix any cranes or windlasses that broke—were the ones covered in sawdust, looking grumpy from working all night and then having to stay instead of going home to their beds. The stevedors were the muscular ones in homespun, looking grumpy for being pulled away from their familiar work, even though I was paying three times their normal rate. The wizards and the apprentices were the ones wearing fine robes and looking grumpy for having been summoned here so early and with no explanation.

There were a series of cranes, ten feet apart, equipped with thick hawsers and multiple pulleys in order to provide tremendous mechanical advantage. Each crane dangled a series of loops of rope, each supporting a small wooden platform with guideropes leading off to one side.

I climbed up to the first level of the ziggurat so everyone could see me, waited for a moment until everyone settled down expectantly, and began my speech. I tried to project, but mostly just ripped my throat up; I had never spoken to this many people without amplification.

"Thank you all for the hard work you did last night, and for being here today. The devices we are about to build will be completely unlike anything the Deorsi have ever seen; completely non-magical in their effect, striking from ranges beyond their their ability to retaliate, there will no defending against them with magic. They will allow us to win this war!"

Everyone was silent and even grumpier than before. Embarrased, I climbed back down.

"I think you need a few more ranks in your 'Make Inspiring Speech' skill, M'Lord," Thomas murmured softly to me, with just the tiniest quiver of a smile. I mumbled something rude about what he could do with his criticism, then turned to tell the workmen what I needed.

They did not understand a word. So I explained it again, in different terms.

They thought I was nuts. But they did it anyway.

Over the next few hours, we got a lot done. The first run was the trickiest as it involved so much explaining. One of the casters put up a Wall of Force under the cranes, bending it into a series of horizontal stairsteps seven feet tall with 'steps' of various widths. I was patting myself on the back about the idea of bending the Wall; no DM in my world would have allowed it, but technically the Rules As Written said only that the Wall had to be "flat and vertical"—it didn't say "straight." I carefully ignored the fact that this was a trick Flobovians had known about for fifteen hundred years; it would have seriously harshed my buzz.

Wall of Force doesn't last long, though, so we needed to extend the duration a bit. Turns out that a Permanency spell is about the last word in extending duration, so that's what we used. Why not? Wall of Force is a dismissable spell, so it wasn't like it would be sitting there taking up space for all eternity.

As soon as the Wall was up and Permanenced, Matthew cast a Wall of Iron into the supporting loops of the cranes, producing a flat sheet of iron three quarters of an inch thick, six feet high, and four hundred feet long. It weighed in at over thirty-six tons; the cranes creaked under the weight, but they took it.

From there it was easy; the stevedors spun the crane's windlasses, lowering the Wall of Iron quickly but smoothly onto the Wall of Force. The stevedors on the guideropes controlled it carefully as it descended so it would fall exactly where needed.

A Wall of Iron is a sheet of normal iron and therefore subject to the normal laws of physics—oxidation, gravity, mass, volume, shearing, and so on. A Wall of Force is a plane of mystical energy that stares physics firmly in the eye, sticks out its tongue and says "Neener, neener!" while wiggling its fingers in its ears. It is absolutely immobile, absolutely indestructible by any physical force...and, since, unlike every other Wall spell, the Rules As Written say nothing about thickness, it is absolutely two dimensional. In short, it is the most amazing knife imaginable, and it slid through the iron like a hot knife through olive oil.

The Wall of Force had been carefully shaped in such a way as to slice the iron into various sizes depending on their purpose, without slicing the ropes. As soon as the segments hit the ground, more stevedors leaped forward, grabbed them, and dragged them away to make room for the next. Even as they did, the men at the windlasses were cranking furiously, pulling the rope loops back above the level of the Wall of Force. At which point another Wall of Iron was cast and sliced, and then another, and another.

As the workmen settled into a rhythm, I took some casters aside and got into the next phase.

In a D&D world, even though the Crafting rules make it impossible to actually create anything in a sane time period, there's a really cool hack for manufacturing many simple things quickly: use Shrink Item to get the raw material (in this case, iron) to a manageable size and change it into cloth. Cut the cloth, roll it, even stitch it with a few threads taken from the side of it, then restore it to normal. If you need the iron to be thicker, cut the cloth into pieces, stack the pieces on top of each other and use a series of Mendings to meld them together before you unshrink them.

There are other tricks too—for example, use a quill to make a very faint, very tightly packed, impression in the cloth. Restore it to normal and you have iron with a faint groove covering its surface. Pile copper pieces on it and hit everything with a Fireball; the copper melts and some of it flows into the grooves. The iron isn't affected, so you can scrape off the excess molten copper, let the whole mess cool, and Shrink it again. Very carefully pull the copper thread out of the resulting cloth and enlarge everything; voila, several thousand feet of copper wire.

The fun doesn't stop there, though. Wrap the copper wire as many times as you can around an iron bar and repeatedly slam electrical spells through it to get a powerful bar magnet. Put that magnet in the center of an axle with enough grease that the magnet can spin independently of the axle. Add a copper tube around the magnet, a wooden frame supporting a power takeoff (a set of copper brushes hanging down onto the tube and a thick cable leading off to the side) and you've got a sweet little generator. I wasn't sure exactly how much power it was putting out, but some very crude tests suggested that the answer was somewhere between 'a crapton' and 'a metric buttload'. It certainly succeeded in vaporing a bucket of water right quick, which was all I really needed it to do.

We had about a dozen casters who could cast Wall of Iron at least once per day, as well as a lot of scrolls, wands, and whatevers that could cast it. There were also plenty of Shrink Items available and an enormous number of Mending spells—all of the apprentices had that at least once, as well as the actual magi.

Over the course of that day we manufactured about sixty cannon barrels and hundred of cannonballs. We made the cannon small but nicely tricked out—six feet long, four inch inner bore diameter, rear trunnions, rear towbar, and front axles mounting large oaken wheels. All up they weighed about six hundred and fifty pounds, so a team of eight average men could lift and carry one. Mount that team on mules and the guns could be deployed quickly into nearly any terrain. Their only drawback was that they were smoothbore, not rifled, so accuracy wouldn't be great.

Of course, when you've got a giant shotgun that blasts over a hundred one-inch iron balls at a few hundred soldiers from several football fields away, accuracy really isn't that important.

In addition to the cannons, we made thousands of cannonballs of varying sizes and types, nearly as many bar magnets and copper tubes, hundreds of feet of thick copper cable, and literally miles of the thin copper wire that was used to create the bar magnets. Actually, we made so many of everything that there weren't enough hands to bag up all the cannonballs or stack all the cannons. All of the workmen were scrambling at top speed just to keep up with the constant flow of materiel coming from the hands of the magi.

But we didn't just produce cannons; we also produced accidents. Within the first two hours, four workers had feet or hands crushed by dropped cannons, and two men got bad electrical burns when they accidentally spun the magnet on a generator while carrying it. By an amazing coincidence, however, there happened to be a dozen high level paladins nearby who were able to heal all the damage. Afterwards, I sent the formerly-injured men home for the day with my thanks in their ears and a large bonus in their pockets.

What the Landguard could not heal, however, was the man who was cut in half and killed when he accidentally stumbled into the end of the Wall of Force. When I saw that, I started to shout for a doctor, then realized that there weren't any in this world.

"Bob, Aerith! Get a cleric who can resurrect him. Don't worry about money, just go!" I said loudly. Almost before the words were out of my mouth, Bob and Aerith were sprinting off in different directions. Both were moving at speeds that would have torn the spots off a cheetah—and they did it while wearing full armor and carrying weapons.

There was nothing further I could do to deal with the situation which left me with lots of adrenaline and nothing to do with it. My mind spun in circles, looking for something useful to do or think about so that it didn't have to register the two bleeding halves of a human being on the ground a few yards away. Ninety seconds ago, he had been a man, probably with a family and certainly with hopes, dreams, and plans; now he was a couple of chunks of meat not too different from what the vendors around the Plaza were selling.

And, of course, my weirdo brain fixed on something completely pointless. "Ok, Thomas," I demanded, turning to the head of my protective detachment. "What the hell? Fantasy world, fine. Magical powers, fine. But I simply refuse to believe that every single member of the Landguard just so happens to be a world-class sprinter on top of everything else. What gives?"

Thomas flicked his eyes around, checking that noone was near, and then spoke in a jailyard whisper. "We live under permanent Haste spells, Jake. Beyond that, don't ask here. Later, when we're in the Work Room and under shields."

My eyebrow did the Spock thing, but I didn't push it. Instead, I moved over to the body and stood there, gloomily contemplating what I had caused. Finally I sighed and looked around.

No one in the square was working. They were all staring at me—most of them with expressions of resentment and anger for bringing them to work on this apparently pointless, dangerous task. A very few were looking surprised and perhaps a bit impressed that I was providing an expensive and rare Resurrection spell for a simple dockworker.

It was almost a full hour before Aerith came back with a cleric in tow. She was a tall, skeletally thin woman with coal-black skin and a sheer black veil. Her face, easily seen through the veil, showed her to be very old; her skin was as wrinkled as a dried apple, lines of age and experience drawn across it like roads on a map. Despite that, she moved so smoothly and gracefully that she seemed to float.

The crowd parted in front of her like the Red Sea; the expressions on most of the faces were fear, not respect. She paid no attention, looking straight ahead, walking slowly and calmly to the body.

She examined the remains carefully, pacing slowly in a circle around them, examining them from all angles. Upon completing her circuit, she dropped to one knee, dabbed a finger in the blood, and tasted it thoughtfully, as one might taste a fine wine to determine its varietal.

Slowly, she rose to her feet and faced me. This close, I could see her eyes through the veil; they were an unusually bright brown, nearly gold, and terrifyingly still. Her entire body was like that—completely motionless. Normal people are never completely motionless; they sway slightly as they subconsciously maintain balance, they swallow, they blink...at the very least their chest rises and falls as they breathe.

She did none of that. She stood like she was outside of Time itself, staring at me. It was the creepiest thing I'd ever seen, and I found my eyes locked immovably on hers like the mouse locked to the gaze of the cobra.

After a solid minute of silence, she spoke a single word in a voice that sounded like it was drifting up from the bottom of a deep well:

"Why?"

I stood paralyzed, not knowing what she was asking but absolutely certain that giving the correct answer was vital. An eternity later, I managed to push words through my throat.

"Because his death is my responsiblity."

She considered my answer for the single longest moment of my life before nodding; her aura of otherness retreated slightly. She still commanded all the respect due a ruling matriarch upon her throne, but not the stark awe-filled terror due a living avatar of Death.

"You will create a new seat at the Conclave table, co-equal to the rest, to be filled by whomever the minor churches select."

I was opening my mouth to assent when a commanding voice rang out across the Plaza, "Stop!"

All eyes, even those of the high priestess of Death, swiveled to the source of that clarion voice. The Archpriest of Flobovia swept towards us, white robes catching the late morning sun so that he seemed to glow. Behind him came a flying wedge of the six High Priests, all in full regalia.

"My Lord," said the Archpriest, speaking with the charisma and projection of a world leader, "It is not necessary to pay this woman of the Dark God such a high price. I shall return this man's life, as is my sacred duty to the nation, for the sake of justice instead of power-grubbing avarice."

I raised an eyebrow and looked again at the priestess in black. Through her veil I could see just the tiniest hint of a sardonic smile, but she said nothing. Instead she just stood calmly, looking at me and completely ignoring the Archpriest.

I'm no good at all with political shenanigans, but something odd was clearly happening here; there had to be a catch somewhere. I felt like I was wading through glue as I tried to figure out what it might be.

Perhaps the issue was something that I would need to provide? Something expensive or that would give the recipient power over me? "That's a very kind offer, your Benevolence. Will you need anything in order to perform the ritual? Spell components or such?"

"No, thank you. There is no need for you to put yourself out; the True Church will provide all that I require," he said in the tone of a kind parent graciously granting an ice cream to a favorite child.

I nodded absently, still thinking my way through it. "And you, High Priestess? Is there anything you would require, aside from the Conclave seat?" I had no idea what the correct form of address for her was, but I figured that 'High Priestess' was as good a shot as any.

"No." Her voice was quiet, but nonetheless it carried around the Plaza.

Ok, that wasn't it. I cudgeled my brain, trying to figure out what I was missing. Clearly, the Archpriest didn't want the minor churches getting a seat at the Conclave table—presumably because it would be a dilution of the power of his own church. Was there more to it? Would I gain an enemy whichever one I chose? Probably. Would I end up owing one of them a service? I didn't know.

I looked to Thomas for help. In a nearly silent whisper he asked "when?" with a head tilt towards the Archpriest.

It took a moment to figure out what he meant, but I got it. "When would you be prepared to begin?" I asked, addressing both of them.

The Archpriest paused, clearly looking for a weasel wording. "I will need some little time to request this favor from the True God, but there will be no risk of losing the man's soul. He can be brought back tomorrow as easily as today."

The priestess waited until he finished, then merely responded: "Now." Throughout the Archpriest's speech she never once glanced at him; strangely, it did not seem that she was acting petty by giving her rival the silent treatment. Instead, it was as though she were simply ignoring an utterly irrelevant element of her world, such as a leaf on a tree she happened to be walking past.

I nodded thoughtfully, understanding. The priestess had the spell memorized, the Archpriest didn't. Either one of them could bring the man back; the only difference was if it happened now or tomorrow morning.

Of course, there were other differences. Allowing the Archpriest to do it would help to cement my tacit alliance with him and likely win me his continued support in the Conclave. It probably wouldn't cost much either; as far as I could tell, the minor churches had very little political power and they were highly unlikely to try to harm me physically.

On the other hand, having the high priestess do it would mean granting the minor churches a position of significant political power in Flobovia...and, with that thought, the rest of the implications unfolded in my mind life an evil flower.

Granting the minor churches political power would seriously upset the religious status quo; worst case, it could lead to direct strife between the churches. Also, creating a Conclave seat for the minor churches would set an important precedent, and open up a can of worms—if there could be two seats for a given segment of the populous, why not three? Or ten? Could the ruler pack the Conclave with his supporters, simply by creating the needed seats, thereby gaining absolute control of the nation? If seats could be created, could they be removed? Could a ruler use that method to close off an entire segment of the population from representation?

And if I added a new chair, it would turn at least some of the Conclave against me. Not to mention it would do strange things to the dynamics of the Conclave itself. The two clerics would probably be at each others' throats on every issue, polarizing the Conclave. And, of course, there would now be eight seats, allowing for deadlocks. And, in this case, deadlocks could be a good or bad thing: a deadlocked Conclave would be unable to muck around in the affairs of the nation, thereby increasing the ruler's power. But increasing the ruler's power was dangerous when the ruler rotated every two years and some of them were ineffective or abusive.

And, of course, whichever choice I made, a crowd of a few thousand citizens would see that choice, thereby setting their impression of me.

By now, my head was splitting from all this political quicksand. There was no good choice, so instead I did what I felt was right.

"Your Benevolence, thank you very much for your kind offer, but I can't allow this man to stay dead longer than necessary. He has a family to go home to, and an employer who needs him. This is not intended as an insult, and I hope you won't take it that way, but I have to allow the High Priestess to cast the spell immediately."

Figuring I might as well make at least a little hay out of this given all the trouble it would cause, I faced her squarely and projected as clearly as I could. "High Priestess, would you please bring this man back? The minor churches will have their Conclave seat as soon as they choose their representative."

She nodded without speaking, then paced solemnly to the remains. With unexpected strength for such an old woman, she gently lifted the left half of the body and laid it respectfully next to the right. Removing her veil, she draped it over the man's face as though laying a blanket on a sleeping child. She studied him for a moment, then gently scooped up a handful of the mostly-coagulated blood and dabbed it on her forehead, cheeks, and eyelids.

Pacing slowly around the body, she faced across it to the north, raised the small pool of blood in her cupped hands in offering, and spoke to the sky.

Northern Death, cut too soon, cut too short  
God of Terror  
God of Fear  
Knees to water, hearts to lead  
Look aside  
Close your eyes

She lowered her hands and bowed her head in respect. A minute crawled by, then another. Finally she raised her head and paced a quarter turn clockwise around the body. Turning so that she faced across the body to the east, she raised her hands and spoke again.

Eastern Death, reaping old, growing youth  
God of Need  
God of Green  
Regret and sorrow, need and joy  
Look aside  
Close your eyes

Again she bowed in respect. Again she paced a quarter turn, faced across the body, and raised her hands to the sky.

Southern Death, pain ender, disease curer  
God of Surcease  
God of Relief  
Relief and regret, tears and wishes  
Look aside  
Close your eyes

Another bow, another quarter turn, and she raised her hands a fourth time.

Western Death, good friend, kind friend  
God of Welcome  
God of Peace  
Gently freed, loved and remembered  
Look aside  
Close your eyes

She bowed a final time, then paced forward, knelt by the body and removed the veil from his face. She lay it carefully aside before cradling the man's head in both hands. The pool of dried, blackened blood around them softened immediately into bright liquid crimson and flowed back into the gaping wounds. Where it entered, the separated body parts moved together, new tissue growing and knitting them shut. When the blood was all gone from the ground she bent down and kissed the man's forehead softly, as a mother kisses an infant. The blood on her brow, cheeks, and eyes softened and flowed downwards, across his face, across his throat and chest, finally sinking through the skin over his heart.

His eyes drifted open like someone waking from a good night's sleep. He lay there for a moment, blinking, and staring up at her. She waited patiently, still supporting his head and smiling softly. Finally, he sat up and looked around.

An awed murmur passed through the crowd. None of the normal people in this Plaza had seen a resurrection before; to all of us, death was an end, a horror and a misery to be avoided at all costs. Now, we had been shown an inkling that perhaps death was more than that, that it had a kindly face as well. It was a profound moment for all of us, and I felt deeply honored to have been part of it.

The priestess helped her patient to his feet and brought him to me.

"Leon, this is the man who brought you back," she told him gently. There was nothing terrible or terrifying left in her; she seemed like a wise and kindly grandmother, straight from Leave It To Beaver or Mrs Piggle Wiggle.

I stared at her in astonishment; I had had nothing to do with Leon's resurrection outside of a bit of political horse trading.

"Uhh...thank you, High Priestess, but you did this, not me."

She smiled. "A fire gives heat only when the builder lights it."

My brain was still pretty scrambled by what I had just seen, but I couldn't keep one thought out: any second now, she was going to say "when you can snatch the pebble from my hand, grasshopper..." Or maybe at the end of her sentences she would start putting her verbs, yes?

Leon bobbed his head to me, looking like he'd be holding his cap in his hands if he had a cap. "Thank you, M'Lord. Thank you very much. I'm a dockworker, I know I can't pay..."

I shook my head. "Leon, don't worry about it. I should have ordered the ends of the Wall to be folded back so that this couldn't happen, but I didn't think of it. Your death was my fault, and I had to make it right." I smiled quirkily. "Tell you what—you promise not to report me to OSHA and we'll call it even."

He stared at me, forehead creased in bafflement. "I won't tell a soul, M'Lord, I promise. No one. Not even my wife. I swear."

I laughed and waved him off. "It's ok, Leon, it was a joke. A small one. Almost invisible, actually. But feel free to tell anyone you want—after all, a couple of thousand people were watching and saw the whole thing, so it's not like we could keep it a secret.

"Anyway, let me give you a bonus—call it hazard pay, for being forced to work in unsafe conditions—and you take the rest of the day off. Spend it with your family."

He shook his head fast, like a dog shaking off water. "No, M'Lord, please, I can work."

"Thank you Leon, but—" I was halfway through repeating my suggestion that he go home when, from the corner of my eye, I caught Thomas' millimetric headshake, so I quickly switched to a new end to the sentence. "—I was just about to call a lunch break, so go eat before you go back to work. And thank you."

After Leon's resurrection, the workers' attitudes completely reversed; they still didn't understand why I wanted them to do all these strange things, but they no longer cared. I had shown my dedication to them, and they meant to return it in kind. They set to it with a will; many of the apprentice casters were dispatched by their masters to go and fetch other casters and other apprentices who hadn't shown up in the morning. The stevedors were no longer grudging about their tasks; they practically ran from place to place as they shifted loads and stuffed cannonballs into sacks. The magi burned up spells with abandon and then sent their apprentices off to fetch scrolls, rings, wands and more exotic items. They produced so many cannon, cannonballs, magnets, and wire that the stevedors couldn't keep up; the stuff started piling up here and there around the Plaza.

In addition, many of the random people from the crowd around the Plaza started helping. This was a mixed blessing; they were willing, but they lacked the experience, strength, and stamina of the professionals, so they tended to get in the way as much or more than they helped. To make matters worse, the crowd that didn't choose to pitch in still crowded closer to watch, and they were definitely in the way. Moreover, there just weren't enough hands available to keep them back without significantly reducing the rate of work.

After a while of fruitlessly asking the crowd to stay back Thomas sent for troops. A short time later, two companies of the Landguard and five of the regular army showed up, all in full battle rattle, to form a cordon around the square. It took some effort, but they finally managed to press the gawkers back to a convenient distance. Occasionally one of them would pop up, prairie dog-like, to look over the shoulders of the guardian soldiers, but for the most part they contented themselves with watching from afar. Work picked up again once they were out of the way.

We didn't knock off until the sun was near the horizon, by which time the magi were out of spells and the longshoremen were exhausted.

"Great job, everyone," I told them with the best impression of 'inspiring boss' that I could manage. I didn't think it was a particularly good impression but from the looks I was getting you would think I had just given the Gettysburg Address. I looked around and saw exausted but pleased faces so I decided to quit while I was ahead. "I'll see you all tomorrow, same time, same spells. G'night." With that, I beat a hasty retreat, the Landguard following.

We didn't head back to the castle though. I had my Landguard detail follow me out of the city with two of the few fully assembled cannons, and a fair amount of ammunition. (When I discovered that an extradimensiobal backpack was standard issue for the 'Guards, "a fair amount" became rather more like "oh my aching back.")

With a bit of effort, we got the cannon across the clear-cut area immediately around the city, through the wheat field, and near the edge of the Royal Forest.

I started futzing around, checking the first cannon over, making sure there weren't any obvious problems. Truth to tell, I was a little nervous about the test firing.

Finally, when I couldn't find anything wrong, I pulled on my big boy pants and got ready to blow the crap out of some trees.

That was when I noticed one of today's bodyguards standing beside me, shaking his head minutely with a frown; most likely, he didn't even realize he was doing it. I thought it was Rob but wasn't sure (really not good with faces here).

"Problem, Rob?" I asked, taking a gamble on his name.

He looked at me sideways just a bit. "If you please M'Lord—Robert. As you know, there's a Rob on my squad," (he nodded briefly to one of his men), "so we try to be careful about distinguishing our names."

"Right, sorry, my bad. Anyway...something's bothering you, what is it?"

He paused for a moment, clearly evaluating how to diplomatically suggest that his ruler was completely around the bend bonkers.

"I was...curious, M'Lord, about our purpose here. These toys you make...tubes and metal balls, I'm not sure how you can consider them weapons."

Now it was my turn to frown. "They aren't toys," I said defensively. "Look, these things are going to blow Deorsi troops into sausage, like I said. We'll need to test them, of course, to verify what their operational parameters are, but I'm sure they'll be fine. And then—sausage, really."

He backpedaled quickly. "Of course, M'Lord. I'm sure they will be very successful. Perhaps I simply don't know enough about them to appreciate them properly."

I waved him over to the nearer cannon. "It's dead easy," I told him, pointing at the various pieces as I walked him through it. "You pour some water down the barrel—preferably salt water because it conducts better, but whatever you've got. It puddles in this small depression here. You ram some wadding down the barrel and pour your ammo on top of that. Next, run an electrical current through this cable that comes in from the top and reaches into the depression. The water is electrolyzed into hydrogen and oxygen gases and the water level drops. When enough of the water has been electrolyzed, the cable is exposed; a spark arcs from the cable to the inside of the barrel and detonates the gases. The explosion blasts the wadding and the ammo out the barrel at the enemy. It'll come out fast and full of hate; anything in front of it is going to be in a world of pain." I grinned savagely.

As excited as I was about the idea of the cannon, I had to laugh at myself just a bit for using the expression 'fast and full of hate.' Yes, it sounded all kinds of tough and macho, but the truth was somewhat different; I had heard it from the instructor at a riflery course once, and it was pretty much the only time I had ever used a firearm in my life. I had taken one of those weekend-warrior courses given by Barrett Rifles; the instructor had been a former Force Marine Recon sniper, a man completely entitled to use manly phrases like 'fast and full of hate' when talking about manly subjects such as rifle ammunition. I, as a whitebread geek from the suburbs with no military service to my name, was not similarly entitled. Despite that, I'd never been able to resist such language.

All through my little internal monoluge, Robert had been staring at me with the look normally reserved for people who are in desperate need of a "hug myself" jacket. Now he cleared his throat and said, in a remarkably casual voice, "Yes, well, I'm sure all of these...things...will be helpful at some point. But are they really the best way to spend an entire day and all that magic, M'Lord?"

Now I was feeling downright defensive. The fact that none of the other Landguard, including Thomas, had spoken up suggested that they were all having the same doubts. "Look, just trust me, ok? It'll work."

"As you say, M'Lord," he responded, just like the excellent soldier he was. He still looked dubious.

Now I was sweating bullets; I really hoped this worked, because if it didn't I was in a lot of trouble. In retrospect I should have built one cannon and tested it before going into mass production. My brain quickly threw up the defense that doing it that way would still have required building the cranes and deploying the same high-level spells so it was just more efficient to have done it on a mass basis right from the start and that I had subconsiously recognized that right from the start and thay's why I had gone ahead as I had. It was very comforting to realize that.

Of course, it was also a total lie. I had not thought any such thing, I had just plowed ahead with an idea for a cool new toy that I was excited about.

Holy crap but I was praying this would work. If I'd ever been able to believe in something as fundamentally nutty as a god, I'd have been praying in earnest. Although, come to think of it, the gods (plural!) of this world were very demonstrably real, so being unwilling to sincerely pray was a bit nutty in and of itself. Meh, whatever.

I had done client demos before where the software wasn't really ready to be shown. That could be managed with a little razzle-dazzle; you stepped around the landmines, pointed at the good bits even if they were trivial, talked fast and sounded positive throughout. It worked surprisingly well because (a) non-programmers don't understand software and (b) most people are gullible and/or stupid. This situation, however, was a whole other level; an audience that severely doubted me, on whom I was dependent literally for my survival, with a product that would either function or not function, period. No fancy footwork was going to help here.

I forced a confident smile and said, "Ok, let's do this. Duncan, you've still got that handy instant-water thing, right? Pour—". I suddenly realized that I had no idea how much water would be required.

"Pour a gallon of salt water down the barrel, if you would," I told him. That was less than I thought would really be needed, but I figured it was a lot like cooking; you could always increase the amount of spice, but you couldn't take it out once it was in. Duncan did as I asked, looking dubious.

Once he was out of the way, I draped a loop of cable around the barrel and let it trail on the ground; without a grounding strap this either wouldn't work or, more likely, it would kill us all. Next I took some of the wire that was attached to the generator and carefully pushed it through the insulated hole in the side and diagonally down until I felt it touch the bottom. Pulling it out an inch I backed away slowly, paying the wire out as I went. In combat the generator would be beside the cannon so the wire wouldn't sag signicantly, but for this test I wanted a bit more distance so I draped the wire over the aiming wedges to prevent it from touching the ground.

Once the Landguard, the generator, and my tender self were all behind the second cannon, I checked everything over one last time and then turned to the Landguard to give what I sincerely hoped were not going to be final instructions.

"In a moment I'm going to crank the generator to create artificial lightning. Once I start cranking, stay low and behind this cannon. Do NOT touch the wire or it might kill you, got it?" Everyone nodded. "Ok, let's do this."

I took the generator's crank handle in both hands and took a deep breath. If I hadn't been an atheist I would have said a quick prayer, but as it was I just hoped really hard and started cranking as fast as I could.

The handle spun the bar magnet in the center of the generator. The thing was heavy as hell and my shoulders and biceps were on fire within a few seconds, but I kept it turning. It had a crazy huge amount of inertia, so once I got it moving all I had to do was keeping adding energy, much like pumping a swing. Sweat popped out on my forehead and ran into my eyes; I took one hand off for a split second to wipe my face of my sleeve, but was still blinking the salt away as I got both hands back to work.

After about a minute of cranking, there was a giant BOOM!, the grapeshot flew out of the barrel and utterly shredded the trees downrange. Larger trees were chewed up, fragments the size of spears flying in all directions. Several of the smaller trees were actually knocked down by the force of the shot. Birds, startled at the sound, blasted out of the trees, flapping off in all directions. The Landguard stood, jaws sagging in amazement. Finally Duncan turned to me and stuck out his hand to shake. "I take back all the nasty things I said about you, M'Lord. You truly are a genius, and I'm very confident you'll save our country. Those poor Deorsi bastards are screwed, blued, and tattooed! These cannon of yours will chew 'em up and spit 'em out. I was wrong about you lad, and I'm truly grateful that you are our Lord."

Oh wait. None of that happened.

Instead, the cannon just sat there, sneering at me in its immobility and silence. I stopped cranking the generator after I couldn't do any more, my arms screaming at me in loud voices and threatening to secede from my body. I stood, shaking them out as I stared at the cannon with narrowed eyes. A shiver went down my spine as I realized what the reaction of the 'Guards was going to be; it felt like seventy seven black cats had just walked over my grave, pointing out to the universe all the ways in which my beautiful cannon would fail. Firmly, I pushed those thoughts to one side and focused down on the problem. Everything faded away as I locked my entire mind around the issue and shook it like a ragdoll, demanding that a solution fall out.

"Well? Where's the earth shattering kaboom? Wasn't there supposed to be some sort of great big impressive boom?" sneered Duncan. Thomas opened his mouth to say something and I just held my hand up in a Stop gesture. I was too focused on the problem to have social graces, and definitely too focused to be interrupted.

I carefully disengaged the power takeoff from the generator and walked over to the cannon, only vaguely aware that the Landguard were trailing behind. I stood, frowning at this giant lump of recalcitrant metal for a long minute, brows furrowed and eyes unfocused as I traced the system for the point of failure.

"My Lord, we should—" said Thomas. Without even facing him, I snapped my fingers and held up a hand to shut him up, not even aware I was doing it. I was getting more deeply embedded in the problem by the moment, too deep to be aware of him as more than a vaguely irritating distraction.

 _~We added the water, so there's plenty of fuel. The wire is in place, so it should have carried the current to split the water into gas. Once the water was out of the way, the wire would spark, detonating the gasses and firing the cannon. Gunpowder could be a dud, but how in the hell could hydrogen gas be a dud?~_ I thought to myself angrily, deep in the vault of my own skull.

 _~Maybe we didn't add enough water? How much did Duncan actually put in?~_ I hadn't watched the exact amount; maybe he was playing games with me again, testing to see how I would deal with apparent failure? It was a crappy time for games, but that made the theory seem all the more likely.

"Get the ammo and wadding out," I said to the air, still staring at the cannon like I could burn a hole in it with my brain.

They didn't exactly hop to it, but they did it. A minute or two later the grapeshot and wadding were on the ground to one side and I was tipping the barrel down, watching a few drops of water run out.

Only a few drops. I knew Duncan had put in more than that. So where was the rest? Had there not been enough? But we should at least have heard the detonation if—

"M'Lord, we need to go back." Thomas stepped forward and laid a hand on my shoulder; I shook him off in irritation, still focused on the problem. His voice stayed polite but acquired a sharper edge. "It was a good attempt, M'Lord, but it _failed._ We need to tell the mages and the workers not to come tomorrow; we will need them working on other things instead of wasting magic on this."

 _~If there was water and now there isn't, that means it got electrolyzed. But if it was electrolyzed, it should have detonated, and there was no detonation noise. So if the gas didn't detonate, what happened to it? Did the wire not spark?~_ I was idly running my hands over the barrel, puzzling. Distractedly, I tugged on the ignition wire and felt it sliding back and forth through the tightly coiled leather that insulated the ignition hole and sealed it against escaping gas.

Suddenly I flashed back to a MacGyver episode, in which Mac wet down a sack to contain hydrogen gas, because the hydrogen molecules were small enough that they would have slipped through the cloth otherwise. That was it. The seals weren't good enough; the water was split over the course of twenty or thirty seconds; as fast as it was produced, the hydrogen and oxygen leaked out around the ignition wire and through the wadding.

Thomas put his hand on my shoulder firmly, forcibly turning me to face him. He was clearly getting ticked. "My Lord. We are leaving. I'll send some people to bring these things back in the morning, but we're leaving _now_. Come along." He started back towards the city; only in politest terms would it be fair to say that his hand on my shoulder was 'guiding' me instead of, oh say, 'dragging' me.

I twisted out from under him. "Hang on, I know what happened. This will work, we just have to try again."

Thomas frowned openly, his patience running thin. "These toys of yours don't work, My Lord. Face it and let's move on. We wasted a full day on this; we need to stop chasing an escaped horse and start coming up with something that is actually effective." Behind him the other Landguard were nodding in agreement; all of them looked quietly pissed to have wasted a day and then been dragged out here for a completely spectacular failure.

I was shaking my head. "No, we're doing another shoot. I know what the problem was, I can fix it."

"Admit it, you screwed the pooch, boy!" Duncan growled. "This idiocy of yours wasted the entire day and a huge amount of magic and accomplished absolutely nothing. Now shut your mouth and get back to the castle, doubletime! There's actual work to do, instead of messing around with oversized toys!"

A combination of frustration and defensiveness surged up in me and gave me the steel to plant my feet and snap back at him. "It was _not_ a goddamn waste! These things will _work_ , I just need to make one fix."

The Commander of the Landguard had run completely out of patience with his ruler. "Gods damn it, stop! We are not wasting any more time on these ridiculous things. Now come on!" He reached for my shoulder again, clearly intending to take no further nonsense even if it meant literally dragging me away.

"Stand down, Commander!" I snapped. He jolted to a halt, his face thunderous and growing worse by the moment.

I really didn't care. The rage was rolling through me, too, and I had lost any trace of caring. "All of you, shut it! We are doing another shoot, so get that cannon reloaded right the hell now! That is a direct order!"

That stopped them. They stood for a moment, eyeing me much like you would eye someone who had just totaled your car; you weren't allowed to punch them in the face but oh boy did you want to. Slowly, they moved back to the cannon. Duncan produced his flask again and poured more salt water down the barrel. I had him put in quite a bit more this time, just to be sure. And I stood over him to make sure he did it. Finally, the water, wadding, and shot were in and we were back behind the second cannon.

I checked that the power takeoff was up, disengaged from the generator so that power wouldn't flow. "Robert, start cranking, fast as you can." He looked at Thomas for direction; Thomas gave him a disgruntled nod, thinking 'do it so we can get this stupid thing over with' so loudly that I was pretty sure they could hear it back in the castle.

Robert stepped forward and pushed on the crank with one hand, surprised when it barely moved. Despite watching me sweat for it, he hadn't understood just how heavy the damn thing was. Frowning thunderously, he set his feet, took a deep breath, and started spinning that crank, slowly at first but speeding up quickly until it was flying around like a pinwheel. I should have thought of this earlier; my body worked on biology, so I got tired after a few dozen seconds of heavy exertion. Their bodies ran on some weird crazy-town pseudoscience; the only way they got tired was by marching too long, staying awake too long, or being hit with magic.

As Robert cranked, power was generated. With the takeoff disengaged there was nowhere for it to go so the electrons clung to the outer rim of the copper shell, building up a massive static charge like a Van Der Graff generator. I let the power build and build until every hair on my body was standing out straight and, just before the power arced on its own, I dropped the power takeoff into place, yanking my hand away as it fell.

A thunderbolt crack! split the air as the built up power lanced down the cable and into the cannon, followed so closely by the cannon blast that the two sounded almost as one. As I had hoped, the trick was to use a massive charge to electrolyze and detonate the water before the gas could escape.

Reaching up to move the power takeoff meant that I had to be standing up, with my upper body exposed over the protective cannon that the others were crouched behind. Not even the Landguard were fast enough to yank me to the ground when the explosion went off. Something went SPANG! off the body of the cannon we were hiding behind, passed my head going way too fast, and crashed through the corner of the generator's frame. Simultaneously there was a sound like golf-ball sized hail crashing into a tin roof at major-league-fastball speeds. I ducked way too late to matter.

Everyone stood up slowly, ears ringing, and looked at the cannon that we had fired.

The barrel was peeled open as though it had been unzipped, split cleanly down a straight line on one side. The edges of the split were jagged; pieces had been blown off in all directions. One very large piece had gone flying past me and stuck itself in the ground a few dozen yards away. The cannon we had sheltered behind had multiple divots in the side closest to the explosion.

As one man, the Landguard turned to me with accusing eyes.

I hurried to jump in before the recriminations could begin. "Ok, yes, need a smaller charge next time. But look!" I pointed downrange; a hundred yards away, half a dozen trees were chewed up—stripped of their lower bark and leaves, smaller branches wrenched off, large pockmarks and gouges everywhere on their trunks. It wasn't as impressive as my fantasy from before, but it was still quite a bit of damage. It was fully obvious that, had those been men instead of trees, they would have been thoroughly dead.

The 'Guardsmen considered the damage thoughtfully, then looked at each other in some sort of weird silent conversation that consisted mostly of facial expressions, shrugs, and small head gestures. I guess that's what happens when you live and train with the same small group of people for years; words lose some of their necessity. I envied them that close connection.

They turned back to me; Thomas spoke for the group. His voice was still frosty, but at least it was no longer raging with contempt. "Congratulations on an excellent attempt, M'Lord; the weapon clearly causes damage at a reasonable range. But a longbow can shoot signicantly farther while being much easier to transport, a Fireball does more damage at the same range or longer...and neither of them blows up in the user's face."

I was clearly losing this crowd, so I scrambled to get things back on the right track. "First off, this is short range for a cannon, giving it the edge over both longbows and Fireballs. As to blowing up in your face—like I said, we just use a smaller amount of water and we're fine.

"But the important part is the numbers; a Fireball might do more damage—maybe; I'm not willing to concede that point without more tests—but they only come from people with class levels. Even a high-level mage doesn't have more than half a dozen Fireballs available unless he's burning up scrolls, wands, or that kind of thing. A cannon can be operated by a crew of commoners with no class levels. The Deorsi probably have a few thousand magi, but we've got millions of commoners."

That stopped them in their tracks. The anger faded away, to be replaced by surprise and thoughtfulness. Thomas spoke slowly, clearly working his way through the logic. "That lets us mobilize the entire populace, makes them effective enough to matter, and gives them enough range that they don't get killed too quickly." He stopped, looking slightly gobsmacked. "Zero-level people killing people with class levels...I can hardly believe it."

After a moment, Robert spoke up, doubt still strong in his voice. "If we only get one shot from each cannon, it's not going to be worth the effort."

Even as he spoke, I was moving to the cannon, examining what had happened. Upon closer examination, the blast had vented through the ignition hole as much as through the barrel, vaporizing the ignition wire itself and knocking the insulating leather out like a champagne cork. It had clearly reduced the power of the shot a lot from what I had hoped for, but the results were good enough. As to the destruction of the cannon itself...

"Aha. Look at this, all of you," I called out, pointing. They gathered around, studying what I was indicating. "See here? This is one of the cannons that were sewn shut, not Mended into a whole. We took the cloth form of the iron while it was Shrunk, took a few threads from the side, and stitched the edges closed. When we un-Shrunk it, the stitching grew with it, holding the whole thing together. But the stitching was a weak point; when the explosion went off, it failed at the seam, not in the barrel itself. But look at this one," I moved to the cannon we had sheltered behind, indicating the lack of a seam. "With this one, the edge was closed using a Mending spell. There's no seams, no weak points to fail. It'll stand up to repeated shots and, as long as we don't overcharge it again, there won't be a problem. The crew will need to replace the ignition plug after every shot and feed in more ignition cable, but that's doable."

Duncan spat to one side, clearly unwilling to give up on his dislike of the idea. "So what? The _crew_ is the weak point. Untrained bastards'll run as soon as the enemy comes in sight."

Fortunately, I had this one covered. Who would have thought that a taste for military science fiction would have practical applications? (Oh, and—thank you, John Ringo and Dave Drake!)

"No they won't, Duncan. Because the leader of each crew is going to be a regular army soldier with a crossbow and orders to shoot any man who runs."

Duncan raised an eyebrow and eyed me in the same way you would eye a terrier that had just growled at a mastiff. Then he sneered at me; his body language was only a small step less combative than when he curbstomped me behind the stables. "You can't stiffen a bucket of spit with a handful of pebbles, _My Lord_. They'll panic and swarm the officer, or just run in all directions so he can't get'em all. As you would know, if you had the slightest military experience, or even the basic sense to ask advice from the competent people. You had _one_ good idea with the bombings, and even there you got lucky. As for this half-assed lashup...I've got more years of service than you've got brain cells and I'm telling you that you just wasted an entire day of production and reams of magic on this stupid idea. There is NO WAY to make it work."

I bared my teeth in frustration and snapped back at him. "Duncan, I now officially declare this to be Your Problem. Figure out how to _make_ it work, because we ARE doing it. Now shut your mouth and start thinking, because I expect to see the first teams of cannoneers training by noon tomorrow."

He glowered sourly at me but shut up, looking away. As he turned, I saw the slightest flicker of a smile, and knew that I'd just been tested again. Argh.

"Right," I said brightly. "Let's do some additional shoots with this second cannon. We need to figure out how big a charge we can use without it blowing the hell up."

* * *

 _ **Second Author's Note**_ _: For the record, the quote on the obelisk in the Plaza of Remembrance is a slight paraphrase of a quote from John Adams, and has always been one of my favorites._

 _Please review. Reviews are the carrots that keep me writing; without them, it's really hard to keep going._


	9. chapter 9

_**Author's Note:**_ _Total lack of ownership of the underlying game is declared._

 _In other news: hey look, we have met the enemy and they ain't us! Also, yes, the generators_ _ **would**_ _be that powerful._

* * *

The morning dawned with a lead gray sky glowering down, ready to drop rain on us at any moment. Despite that, the magi, apprentices, and workers were all in the Plaza almost before the sun was fully up. Apparently, word had gotten out about the cannon testing from last night, because the crowd was even bigger than yesterday. By eleven'o'clock we had two companies of Landguard and seven companies of regulars ringing the Plaza, holding back a solid press of citizens who wanted a good view of this oddball yet fascinating spectacle.

And spectacular it was—even more workmen had come out than yesterday, and progress was even faster; cannon barrels, cannonballs, wires, and iron bars were practically flying out of the magi's hands, only to be raced over to the next group for finishing. A group of ropemakers had shown up with a great innovation for making the magnets: a pair of horizontal windlasses that mounted the bar between them and then turned with a crank, allowing the wire to be fed on rapidly and smoothly.

Things went great for the first few hours. I stood out of the way and watched, surrounded by ten Landguard and Thomas. (Evidently the Commander was feeling twitchy about how many people were gathered around the Plaza and had decided to beef up my detail.)

Occasionally I would notice something that wasn't running quite right and I'd either send a courier to resolve it or go myself. Mostly it was just a matter of unruffling some feathers; everyone was pushing hard, and they didn't like it when someone else's slowdown interfered with their own progress. Overall, everything was surprisingly smooth. We even had a delicious lunch that was provided free of charge by a consortium of the food vendors around the square. All in all, it was a great day.

And then it wasn't.

There were screams, wet chopping sounds, and people running in all directions. I couldn't see what was happening through the ablative wall of chainmailed meat that surrounded me, so I started to push forward. Before I could see anything, though, I was bodily lifted off the ground by two of my protectors who promptly accelerated away toward the castle. The others formed a solid scrum around us, facing out with weapons in hand and maintaining position even while running backwards. ( _~Oh right,~_ a detached part of me thought. _~The Rules As Written give a running speed, but they don't specify you must be running forwards. Therefore, people can run at the same speed forwards, backwards, or sideways. Ah yes, the joys of an underspecified reality.~_ ) These did not seem like exactly the most useful thoughts I could be having at this exact moment, so I tried to focus on what was happening around me instead.

Through a tiny gap in the line, I caught a glimpse of troops in unfamiliar uniforms. They were appearing near the ziggurat, weapons drawn, and cutting a swath outward. They came on like army ants, with no apparent end to their numbers.

There was a phrase I'd read once, "a leemer is the feeling you get when a shot of cold urine goes through your heart." This moment was exactly that feeling. I didn't know how the Deorsi managed to teleport this many troops here this fast, but if they got a beachhead in the capital we were completely screwed.

"Stop! Put me _down_! We can stop them here!" I shouted, struggling uselessly against the Landguard who held me suspended.

They hesitated just slightly, glances shooting back and forth. Then I was on my feet and Thomas was spinning me towards him, gripping my shoulders intently. "How?" he demanded.

"The cannon! Get us to the cannon!" I told him, pointing frantically at the nearest.

They nearly ripped my arms off as they grabbed me, flashed to the weapon, and set me back on my feet. I didn't waste time trying to load the thing; at the rate the enemy was emerging a single cannon blast wouldn't do much more than create a break in the flow. Instead I grabbed a coil of the copper cable that was intended to connect the generator to the cannon proper and waved at the generator itself, "Grab that and come on!" I started running as fast as I could towards where the Deorsi were appearing.

Apparently the Landguard had decided that "in for a penny, in for a pound" was the motto of the moment, because they didn't ask any questions; Robert, Rob, Bob, Aerith, the goofy-haired one that was outside my door when I had Duncan dungpiled, and three others that I didn't recognize sheathed their weapons, grabbed the generator beween them, and jogged (the best speed they could make while weighed down by seven hundred pounds of iron and copper) after me. Of course, "after me" was right towards where a few hundred enemy soldiers were busily chopping their way through everyone in reach. My guys had brass balls to be running straight at an armed enemy with no weapons in hand and laden down by a load of metal, all without knowing why they were doing it.

Even carrying the generator, the magic-augmented Landguard were still faster than my Muggleriffic pace. Thomas and Duncan grabbed me by the arms again, lifted me off my feet, and carried me along like a woodchip on a flood. The rest of my Landguard protectors followed, wrapping around us in a protective ring.

When we were as close to the enemy as Thomas was willing to let me get, they set me on my feet and walled up in front of me.

"Duncan, use your Decanter, soak the area!" I ordered, offering up a silent prayer to whatever gods this world had that I had guessed right and that Duncan's flask of magically appearing water was, in fact, what I thought it was. A Decanter of Endless Water is an amazingly useful, amazingly broken, magical item. It does exactly what it says on the tin—on command it produces an endless stream of water. Depending on the command word used the water can be either fresh or salt and can be produced at any of three rates ranging from "fill your waterglass" up to "firehose." One Decanter can be used to sustain an army on the march, put out a small housefire, knock enemies over, propel a small boat, excavate dirt, blast the holder a short distance up into the air (useful for reaching second story windows, among other things), and a ton of other uses limited only by one's Munchkinly imagination,

Apparently, Decanters were standard issue for the Landguard (which I thought showed excellent sense), because Duncan and five of the others all pulled one out and started spraying toward the enemy.

A realization about basic chemistry hit me. "Salt water, use salt water!" I shouted. They each spoke a word and the air was filled with the smell of brine.

The Deorsi were aware of us now; dozens of them had wheeled and were charging toward us in frighteningly perfect formation. Behind them another two dozen or so unlimbered bows and took aim. More worrisome was that beside the archers was a—

"Mage!" shouted one of my protectors. Instantly I was on the ground, completely buried under Landguard bodies. A powerful hand clamped over my mouth and nose, cutting off all air. Whoever was doing it caught me on the exhale; I started thrashing, trying to get my face clear so that I could get a breath, but the owner of that hand was having none of it.

A moment later I was grateful; there was a boom-whoosh! like a gascan blowing up and all the air was superheated and sucked away. If I'd been breathing it would have been yanked right out of my lungs, ripping them up on the way.

A moment later the Deorsi infantry arrived en masse, shields set and swords ready to kill us. My protective meat-shield sprang up and moved to stop them, leaving me free on the ground. For a long moment, I just lay on the ground watching the clash. My mind was in a really weird state – the back part of it was screaming, but the front was ice calm. This wasn't my usual calm-in-a-crisis-shaky-afterwards, I could tell. This situation was simply too far outside my experience to register as real. When it did, I was going to lose my calm in a truly epic fashion, so I needed to be useful now.

Fortunately, my bodyguard were far calmer than I was. Bob and Aerith turned their salty firehoses on the charging troops, knocking several of them over and making others stumble. It didn't damage them, but it broke up their ranks so they hit our line in staggered bunches instead in an overwhelming swarm.

And once there were holes in their ranks, the Landguard went through those holes like a swarm of sharks.

There were too many of the Deorsi soldiers for Thomas and the others to hold a line; the enemy would have wrapped around them and been free to attack me. Instead, the Landguard warriors went straight in, flowing back and forth through the enemy lines and slaughtering every enemy that came within reach. It was like that scene in _Lord of the Rings_ where Aragorn gets his badass on and kills a few bazillion orcs. (Which scene? Whatever, pick one.) The Landguard worked perfectly together, seeming to know at all times exactly where each of their fellows was. At one point I saw Aerith deliberately turn his back on the enemy he was fighting and cut the legs out from one who was trying to bypass him. The first enemy wound up for a killing blow…and then one of the 'Guards that I didn't recognize passed by and took his head right off while moving on to another target. At first I thought it was incredible luck, but then it happened again. And again.

It was rather like watching someone stumble into a deli slicer; armed and armored Deorsi troops went in the front of the slicer and strip steak medallions came out the back. The term "flashing blades" is overused in schlocky fantasy stories like the one I had somehow stumbled into, but it absolutely did not apply here. The blades of the Landguard didn't "sing," they didn't "flash," they just moved casually through the air, sliding around their opponent's guard with contemptuous ease, and everyone they touched died. Thomas and Duncan did the most harm—every few seconds they each dropped three or four Deorsi—but none of the Landguard were far behind.

I had a sudden understanding of why the 'Guard were so stringently bound to their duty and such an effective deterrant against armed uprisings; this level of lethality was beyond my comprehension. I was sure it was utterly terrifying to those (such as the local nobles) more familiar with it.

But as fast as they killed the attacking troops, more surged up from behind. And more Deorsi troops and magi were racing towards us, recognizing that high-level characters were significant strategic assets for their enemy and were therefore prime targets. Glowing spheres of force were beginning to strike, swerving between the shifting ranks of the Deorsi to explode unerringly against Thomas. The others weren't being hit, just the single most lethal man on the Plaza.

 _~Lovely_ , I thought. _~An enemy smart enough not to divide their fire and numerous enough that we can't just stand and kill them all. Joy._ Forcing myself to my feet, I stumbled to the coils of copper wire and hooked one end to the generator. Grabbing an armful of the remainder, I dragged it towards where my own personal human cuisinarts were busy making Deorsi-fritters and tossed the cable into the dogfight. It landed as a tangled loopy mess in the big salty puddle that remained from our Decanter-enabled firefighting efforts.

"Landguard, out of the water! Bob, start cranking!" I shouted. Without the slightest hesitation Bob spun on his heel, taking a nasty cut in the process, and raced for the generator. The others bounded back, leaping out of the water and slamming together into a solid wall that stopped the Deorsi butt-cold when they tried to follow. Bob raced to the generator, grabbed the handle, and started spinning it like a pinwheel. There was a crackling noise, the air reeked of ozone, and all of the Deorsi troops standing in the water stiffened, screamed, and dropped to the ground, thrashing as though in an epileptic fit…or as though they were being electrocuted.

It was absolutely horrible; the cable was thrashing around like a snake on a hot plate, sparks were flying everywhere, and I could smell the delicious scent of sizzling bacon—which was suddenly revolting instead of delicious. I was pretty sure it would stay revolting from now on, which utterly sucked because, damnit, I _like_ bacon.

The generator was doing a great job of dropping all the nearby enemies to the ground and frying them, but in the process it had opened a clear line of sight between us and the enemy wizards. Until now they'd been holding off on their primary face-smashing spells for fear of hitting their own troops. That was suddenly no longer a factor.

There were four of them and they stared at us like dire wolves eyeing a sick caribou calf. And then they all moved and things went completely to hell.

The first cried "Dancing Lights!" and threw his arms up, tossing four red balls of light into the sky, where they took up a rotating diamond formation. _~Probably a signal to every Deorsi soldier on the continent to come stomp our heads in,_ I thought to myself.

The other three wizards were not nearly so cute and fluffy. Two Fireballs and a Lightning Bolt came flying our way, catching all of us in their blast.

I died.


	10. chapter 10

_**Author's Note**_ _: Still don't own D &D._

 _This is not part of the story, it's just the details of my worldbuilding. Feel free to skip it if you like._

* * *

Overview

This is (obviously) a D&D fanfic. Unfortunately, the last time I played was back when the cover of the DMG still showed an efreet holding a mostly-naked blonde. (Ah, the days of sexist marketing aimed at 13-year-old boys.) I've done a fair amount of reading since then, but my knowledge of the rules is going to be patchy; bear with me.

Speaking of rules, I am actually writing this according to a strict set of rules that I set for myself when I started. I realized recently, however, that I had never actually laid out what they are. I've mentioned some of them in response to reviews, but I'm going to spell them out so people know what to expect (and so that ***I*** remember).

Update Schedule

The story updates every Saturday of whatever time zone I happen to be in at the time. Occasionally bonus chapters will happen, and those could come any time or any day.

The Rules of the World

For purposes of worldbuilding, the rules I'm playing by are a bit of a hodgepodge. Below is the list of what I'm using; this list will expand periodically as I run into situation where I need to make a ruling on something and I need to remember which way I ruled:

The Deorsi and the Flobovians are both magical societies, but they've developed along very different lines. As a result, there are spells, items, and techniques that are known to one that are not known to the other. Unfortunately for the Flobovians, the Deorsi are primarily focused on battle magic, while the Flobovians are concentrated on economic magic—agriculture, craft magic, etc.

Real-world physics works. (When I pull any of this stuff, however, I'll do my best to get the numbers right.)

RAW (Rules As Written) trumps physics. Note that I'm going by a very strict reading of RAW. If the game designers screwed up or left a loophole, that is Not My Problem. (Of course, this works both for the heroes and the villains...) The rules I'm using are from these sources:

The SRD

A few items from WotC or Paizo blogs or other official online publications.

I don't currently own any of the rulebooks (core or splat). If I end up getting some, material in them may or may not start showing up. Even if something from a book shows up, that doesn't mean that everything in that book is now part of the world, so if you see (e.g.) Dark Way getting cast, don't assume that everything from _Magic of Faerûn_ is now on the table.

I'm using a few house rules, most of which I've used since high school:

First and most important (especially for Chapter 6): Falling damage does not cap out...or, more specifically, I'm ignoring the falling damage rules completely. I house-ruled that years ago, when a high level fighter (played by a friend of mine) decided that, rather than wasting time climbing down a very deep shaft, he would jump—after all, he had plenty of hit points and falling damage caps out, so the fall couldn't possibly kill him! So he jumped hundreds of feet down, splatted on solid stone, and then immediately stood up and started cracking heads. Oy.

According to the Players Handbook, "A character can advance only one level at a time. If, for some extraordinary reason, a character's XP [experience point] reward from a single adventure would be enough to advance two or more levels at once, he or she instead advances one level and gains just enough XP to be 1 XP short of the next level." To this I say: HOGWASH! You can bloody well advance as many levels at a time as you can pay for.

Spells with obvious opposites have them. E.g, since Shrink Item is canon, Enlarge Item exists. Opposites have the same level and stat block as their canonical counterpart. A similar effect applies to the various Wall of X spells and other things similar to them; Rules As Written say "you can double the wall's area by halving its thickness." I will also allow halving the area in order to double its thickness, and I'll allow you to double / halve more than once. And, since the sizings on those walls say " _up to_ x square feet", you can cast them as small as you want, or change the height and width however you like as long as you stay within the specified square footage—instead of a 10'x10' square you can have it be 5'x20', etc.

I gather that lightning bolts have been emasculated in v3-4; they now always bounce straight back to the caster. Sod that; in my game, angle of incidence still equals angle of reflection As Was Writ In The Book of Gygax.

The restriction on paladins not being able to advance their paladin level after taking a level in another class makes no sense to me and interferes with the story that I want to tell. Instead, I'm ruling that a paladin is free to take whatever levels they want so long as their paladin level is higher than any of their other levels. Also, if they take any levels in rogue they immediately lose all paladin levels and powers and cannot regain them while they still have rogue

I'm going to use the published monsters and treasure, but I'm also going to make up my own as the plot requires.

 _SIDE NOTE:_ Although it annoys the bejabbers out of me, I'm going to play Scrying as it's written. Seriously though—you can only scry on people, not on locations? And you can only see the area 10' around the target—you can't turn your invisible eye sideways to look around? Lame. _UPDATE:_ A helpful reader pointed out that 'Scry Location' exists, and does exactly what I was wishing Scry did. Booya! 'Scry Location' is so totally a thing in the 2YE world.

There are a bunch of things you won't see, either because I dislike them or can't be bothered to learn about them:

Psionics (I've had a hate on for them since they were first introduced. If you want to play video games with 'mana bars' fine, but keep them out of my danged RPG.)

Anything Epic. No Epic spells, items, etc. No Epic Handbook. Characters can go past level 20 but they just continue at normal progression.

Prestige classes are unlikely to be used, although it's not a hard block. They irk my purist soul, but they are pretty interesting. (As far as "purist" goes, proper D&D classes are: fighter, paladin, ranger, barbarian, wizard, cleric, druid, thief ("thief", damnit. Not "rogue"!), and assassin. Oh, and sorcerors, because they're cool, and a variant that I've always thought should exist.

Most feats will not be used. I don't know the feat system terribly well and, for whatever reason, they break my suspension of disbelief. There will be a few (e.g. Two Weapon Fighting) where I knew that the actual activity could be done in real life and looked for the rules. But don't expect anyone to have the "Super Improved Master Apprentice Grand Poobah of Superior Crafting" feat.

Metamagic does not exist in the 2YE universe. It's a lot of fun, I like what it can do, and I think the game is stronger for having those rules. (Also, the Mailman build is _epic_.) The fact is though, it makes it too easy to break the game (cf the Mailman build). Instead of dealing with too many cases of "so, wait, the bad guy is smart enough to _use_ metamagic, but not smart enough to really break the game with it?" I would rather simplify things by just not having the problem. There are already too many places where I'm forced to face the question "Why don't the Flobovians already [insert gamebreaking exploit here]" and the only answer I can give is "umm...well...because...hey, look over there, shiny object!"

UPDATE: It was pointed out to me that undead are immune to nonlethal damage and therefore cannot be knocked out. Oops. Well, new house rule: anything with a mind can be knocked out. You can't knock out zombies because there is no mind to be shocked into unconsciousness by pain. You _can_ knock out a vampire or (in theory) a lich. You could even (really seriously in theory) knock out a ghost; how to inflict nonlethal damage on an incorporeal creature is left as an exercise for the Munchkins. I certainly have no idea how to do it, and do not intend to use the idea in the story.


	11. chapter 11

_**Author's Note**_ _: Still don't own D &D._

* * *

Everyone wonders and worries about death. What will it be like? Will there be pearly gates? Will my friends and loved ones be there?

No.

No, they will not.

When a Fireball hits you, and you are a middle-aged programmer instead of an 18th level avatar of the God of Truth, Justice, and Butt-Kicking...you die. Your skin cracks, blackens, sizzles, and peels away like badly applied paint. The fire sears your lungs, flaying you from the inside out. Your hair crisps away, your eyes boil. And worse than any of the pain is the searing flash of realization that your life mattered not at all. That in a few years anyone who remembers you will have moved on and, if they do happen to think of you, you'll be nothing more than a brief twinge of nostalgia, easily drowned out by the need to make a grocery list. And that's the last thought that you have before you wink out.

Everything that you were, everything that you hoped for or dreamed of—it all gets erased as casually as someone tossing a used Kleenex. You have no further chance to learn guitar, travel to Europe, finish your degree, or tell that one girl how much you love her. It's all gone, and there's nothing left. There's no eternal blackness, no white light and choir of angels, not even a pit of fire and brimstone. Those things would all be preferable; at least your mind would still exist. You would still be you, still have the chance to think and plan and dream of escape, no matter how unlikely the chances. But there is simply non-existence.

Instead of ascending to heaven, you lie in the dirt. And you rot.


	12. chapter 12

_**Author's Note**_ _: Let's see...checking...checking...nope, still don't own D &D._

 _Here's a second chapter for you this week, because the previous one was so short. R &R gratefully accepted._

* * *

Nothing is worse than death. But resurrection sucks pretty hard too.

Your mind returns first; this is a problem if the cause of your death was the fact that you'd been turned into a charcoal briquette. Your lungs are burned to tatters, so you can't scream and you immediately start suffocating. When you died your skin was flash-fried, your eyes were boiled away, your eardrums were burst, and your nasal passages were burned to ash; as you return you can't feel, see, hear, or smell anything...total sensory deprivation, except for the pain. And worst of all—at least if the fire was as hot as the one that killed me—large parts of your brain were cooked like a pot roast. So when you come back and start thinking again, you can't do it very well. In fact, you can think just well enough to recognize that you can no longer think well. That you are, in fact, brain damaged.

If all your life you've been a geek, a person whose entire sense of self-worth and self-identity is based on the strength of his intellect, on his ability to know and learn and deduce and remember, a person who delights in word play and puns...if you are that person, then there is no more horrifying fate than recognizing you've been reduced to the level of a low-grade moron. The Devil himself, in a billion years of pondering, could not come up with a worse hell.

No, that's wrong. That's _not_ the worst. The worst is that, even as the magic heals all the damage done to you, you know that you will remember this moment forever. You will always remember exactly what death and brain damage feel like. And those memories will erupt into your dreams every single night for the rest of your life...and also into your waking moments.

After a time the magic finally caught up with all the damage and I found myself conscious, no longer in pain, and lying on cushions in the Work Room. Around me stood the Archpriest, two of his subordinates, seven Landguardsmen that I didn't recognize, and Thomas.

It was a long moment before I could find any words. "So...I guess we won?"

Thomas nodded slowly. "We used your lightning weapon to electrify the point where they were appearing. As they appeared, they fell. After a while, they stopped appearing. At that point we had enough men to stop the rest...barely. There were several thousand of them through the portal at that point, and many of them had made it off the Plaza and into the city proper. There was a lot of damage."

"How many survivors?"

He took a deep breath, looking sad. "When the attack began, we had seven hundred and twenty-four regulars on the square, two hundred and twenty-eight Landguard, one hundred and four mages of various levels, and one hundred and eighty seven mage apprentices. Eight of the regulars are still alive, along with forty three of the mages and sixty eight of the apprentices."

I digested that. "And the Landguard?"

With his face completely blank, he made a small gesture around the room.

I blinked. He couldn't mean...? "You're kidding. This is all of the surviving Landguard?"

He shook his head. "No. The rest are in the provinces. They're on their way back, but it'll take a couple of days for them to get here. We're all that's left in the capital; we lost over ten percent of the entire Landguard in this one attack. There's no way we could stop another like it."

When you've just come back from the dead, it's really not fair for something to happen that gives you an immediate heart attack, even if it's only metaphorical. Actually, it was more like a brain-attack; my brain crashed hard and yanked the power cord right out of the wall to protect itself.

There was no way to stop an enemy who could teleport huge masses of men directly into the capital. No way at all, period, end of sentence, done deal. I was going to die. For real this time. No resurrections, no heroic rescues or cheating-death-at-the-last minute. I was going to flat out die. I would never see home again. My parents would never know what happened to me, would never have any kind of closure. My friends would assume I vanished and didn't bother staying in touch. My landlord would eventually come into the apartment to evict me and find me gone; he'd either take my computers for himself or sell them. Either way, all my private information would end up public.

Some tiny little part of me recognized just how ridiculous that last fear was; the rest of me grabbed that hint of self-awareness and held onto it like a lifeline. From there, I managed to slowly pull myself up that slender rope, bootstrapping my way back to sentience.

I took a few deep breaths to calm down, forcing my shoulders to relax a little further with each breath. I focused all my attention on the tip of my tongue; it's a really stupid trick, but it works. It's impossible to worry about pretty much anything while you're thinking about the tip of your tongue; it starts feeling weird and becomes very distracting.

Once I was breathing a little easier, I climbed to my feet and looked at the Archpriest.

"How long was I...down?" I asked, substituing a nicer word for 'dead' because I couldn't face the real one.

He quirked a lip at my choice of words. "About four hours. We weren't able to get you off the battlefield until the battle ended, which took about three hours. Then it took about an hour to get you to the castle and get us all here."

I nodded, a bit stunned. "We can't—"

Thomas broke in. "I would imagine that being dead has been draining, My Lord. Why don't we get some food while we discuss what to do next?"

I stared at him for a moment before realizing that what he was actually saying was "shut the hell up before you say something that will wreck everyone's morale."

"Thank you, Commander, that would be perfect." He gave a tiny, ironic bow and gestured for me to precede him out of the room. I took the hint.

Thomas was stretching his legs, walking just a bit faster than the others who had followed us out of the room. I kept pace with him, my long legs letting me keep from having to trot to keep up.

"We can resurrect the other Landguard, right? And once they're back we can hold the city."

He looked sideways at me for a moment, his lips twisted in repressed anger. "Eventually, yes. There are two clerics in the city who can cast _True Resurrection_ , twelve who can cast _Resurrection_ , forty-one who can cast _Raise Dead_ , and various numbers at the intervening levels. Higher level spell slots can be used for lower level spells, so the eighth and sixth level slots can also be filled with resurrection magic.

"Given those numbers, if we had all of those clerics do nothing but raise the Landguard we could theoretically have all of them back on their feet in twenty-four hours. Most of them would lose a level in the process, but that's better than being dead. The problem is that the majority of them would have to be brought back with Raise Dead, which requires that the body be whole; the Deorsi made a point of decapitating all the bodies, presumably to make it harder for us to raise them. That means we can only bring back about forty Landguard per day; it would take more than five days to bring them all back, and I doubt the Deorsi will give us that much time. Plus, we can't start until tomorrow, because most clerics don't normally memorize resurrection magic; there isn't nearly as much call for it as for healing and curing disease."

"Oh," I said, daunted. "We're totally boned, aren't we? We only stopped this attack because we happened to have a major military presence right on top of where the Deorsi started teleporting in. We can't count on that next time, and we can't stop them if they can teleport in anywhere. We need to evacuate; maybe if we can get the people through the Elfhame the Deorsi won't follow. After all, they don't care about genocide, they just want to conquer Flobovia. Once everyone is safe, we can try to figure something out."

He shook his head. "We aren't done yet. I talked to the Archmagi, and we have a plan. We can stop the Deorsi if they send in troops again—at least we can if we can spot them arriving soon enough. We don't have a good plan for that though. It's going to require some luck, which I don't like."

He started explaining the plan; by the time we arrived at the sitting room I was grinning like a shark.

Walking through the doors, I took up my usual spot (I was beginning to regard this as my own personal living room) and turned to the Archmagi, already seated and waiting across from me.

"Gentlemen," I greeted them. They nodded in response and we all got settled. (Although, speaking of settled, it was decidedly UNsettling to have Thomas and two other Landguard take up station behind and beside my chair, live steel in each hand.)

"Commander Thomas has filled me in on the current situation, and I love your plan. We just need to figure out how to locate where they are teleporting in and get the troops there in time."

Isaac preened at my compliment; clearly, he thought that he deserved a lot of the credit (if not all the credit) for coming up with this idea. Who knows, it might even be true. "Yes, My Lord. That is exactly the problem we were discussing when you arrived. Since clearly, standard warding methodology is poorly suited to the existing situation, we will create a new technique. Which is easier said than done."

I perked up at the mention of wards. "What were you saying about wards? How hard would it be to ward the entire city?"

Isaac shook his head ponderously. "My Lord, the connection of the Prime Material to the Astral is ubiquitous and highly bounden, mystically speaking. The only spells that can disrupt that connection have insufficient—"

"No, we can't," say Reynard, talking over his compatriot. Matthew nodded in solemn agreement. "There are two spells that can block teleportation—Forbiddance and Dimensional Lock—but they only cover a few square yards."

Isaac harumphed and crossed his arms, glaring at his peer. Clearly, he was unhappy about being interrupted. I really didn't care right now.

"Ok. Other than those spells, what stops a teleportation?"

Isaac and Reynard shook their heads sadly. "Nothing, My Lord," said Reynard, just as Isaac said "A Teleport spell is a most efficacious means to create an Astral tensor that will bridge between two—"

"A location error in the teleport, or the spell failing entirely," said Matthew. Everyone looked startled at hearing him speak; those were the first words out of his mouth since I'd arrived in this wacky world.

"Ok, can we force an error, or a failure?" I demanded, starting to feel the slightest twinge of hope.

He frowned, concentrating. "Well..." he said slowly. "There's no way to force an error that I know of. But some effects, like Greater Teleport, fail if the actual destination is too different from how you picture it. And if there's a wall or other object in the spot that you're teleporting into, most teleportation effects will either fail or shunt you to the nearest open area. Some don't though, so they would actually let you teleport into a solid object."

Isaac jumped in the moment that Matthew paused. "Of course there are ways to induce error! What about Teleportation Trap? It's specifically intended to exchange the arrival locus of a Tenser bridge with another spatial locus! And the Anticipate Teleportation series will also interfere with the attachment of the bridge, causing an error in the temporal dimension."

That caught my interest, and I flipped through the Brainopedia. A seventh level spell, Teleportation Trap belonged to wizards and sorcerers. Anyone teleporting into the area of effect was redirected to a location of the caster's choosing, which had to be open and on a solid surface. It didn't say how big a surface though, so a giant metal spike would work as an arrival point.

No, that wouldn't do it. The first person teleported, maybe the first two or three, would be killed by the spike, but their bodies would cover up the spike and allow the rest to come through safely. What we needed was a way to kill all those coming through the portal, but remove their bodies quickly so that the ones behind them kept coming through without knowing there was a problem. Maybe a killing ground with a crossfire of cannon? The cannon would blow the fragments back, opening up space for more victims….

"Teleport Trap sounds like what we need. We can divert them somewhere and—"

Reynard was shaking his head. "Won't work. Teleport Trap has a ten minute casting time; by the time we found where they were appearing, we wouldn't have time to set up the trap."

I was determined to make this work; it was such a beautiful idea. "What about Time Stop or Haste, to let you cast the spell faster?"

Isaac stepped up to the plate on this one, determined to grab the limelight again. "Unfortunately, M'Lord, that strategy will be ineffective, due to the maximum temporal flux capacity of the Time Stop dweomer which, in accordance with Elminister's Third Postulate, is inadequate to contain a level of charge adequate to sustain the effect for more than a few—"

I cut in quickly. "Ok, gotcha, it won't work. Haste?"

Matthew shook his head and I didn't even bother asking for the explanation; it had been a long shot anyway.

I was flipping frantically through the Brainopedia, trying to find any way to make this work, because if we couldn't I was pretty sure we were all toast. Magic items? Spells? There had to be something...we needed to be able to cast the spell fast enough, but we had to also be able to get the caster to the right place fast enough. How, how, how?

"Ahem! As I was _saying_ ," Isaac put in with a distinct sniff. "The obvious solution for this issue would be to construct the Astral linkage either by means of a more powerful mystic field with a lower activation energy or via a reified spell field."

I stared at him for a long minute, trying to figure out what the hell he had just said. I was pretty sure it was important, so it was irritating that he had picked that exact moment to start speaking Martian.

And then the light dawned….


	13. chapter 13

_**Author's Note:**_ _#include disclaimer.h_

 _This chapter lays the groundwork for several different plans that spring from the fertile brows of Our Heroes. Anyone who can guess what they are before the next chapter is posted will get a shout-out in the next chapter._

* * *

An hour later the whole castle was in an uproar; servants and soldiers were running in and out with cartloads of maps, land deeds, blank parchment, alchemical products, fancy inks made from bizarre and expensive materials, quills made from roc feathers, scores of barrels of lamp oil, dozens of long trestle tables, hundreds of chairs, and weirder stuff. Hordes of people followed them—several hundred mages and what looked like a completely random selection of citizens. There were blacksmiths, entertainers, butchers, bakers (but, sadly, no candlestick makers), men and women, teenagers and grandparents. So many different types of people, all with one very important skill in common. One skill that would, hopefully, make the difference that we so desperately needed.

Cannon production continued apace. The ones we had already built were deployed throughout the city; basically, we put them whereever there was enough empty space for lots of soldiers to appear out of nowhere and start stabbing us all in the face. Well, most of the places. Well, some of the places—ok, fine, a few of the places. It was the best we could do; there were too many places and not enough cannon.

Thomas was acting like a hen with one chick; I went nowhere without a literal wall of bodyguards wrapped around me, swords drawn at all times. Noone was allowed within ten feet of me, and they were checking my food for poison practically bite-by-bite. Two of the Landguard were asleep at any time, with the other six all within three feet of me...even when I had to go to the bathroom.

"Isn't this all a bit extreme?" I asked when I was done; having not one but two heavily armed bodyguards sweep the crapper for threats before I could pee was just a bit surreal...especially when they then stayed in the room with me while I did my thing. (I now have a deeply personal acquiantance with the phrase "shy bladder.") It also didn't help that Suze was taking her new "personal assistant" job seriously and was always right at my elbow; I had to tell her three times that no, she did not need to come into the bathroom with me. For such a mousy girl, she could be awfully stubborn.

I started along the corridor, looking at Thomas and waiting expectantly for his answer. My guards immediately dropped into place around us. As we paced along, Thomas looked at me, blank-faced and finally responded to my question with a simple "No. It is not extreme." He sounded like the Pope speaking _ex cathedra_ : correct by definition. "The Deorsi will launch a decapitation strike within two days. They must have good intelligence on our government and military by now, from prisoners and the population of their captured cities. They'll know that killing you would demoralize the common man and would also remove a dangerous unknown from their planning. I assume they're at least as smart as I am, so they won't wait to launch an assassination attempt. I certainly didn't."

I blinked at that. "You ordered an assassination? Aren't you a paladin? Lawful Good?"

He looked at me like he was fitting me for a dunce cap. "The Land, the Law, the ruler. I'd be failing in my duty if I didn't use every tactic and tool available."

I was surprised, but it made sense; I guess paladins don't actually have to be Lawful Stupid after all. And it wasn't really an assassination per se...this was a war, it was a legitimate strike against military leadership. Assassination or not, it was certainly a more pragmatic—and effective—attitude than any paladin that I'd ever gamed with. "So what did you do?"

"Two of the Special Units with a focus on stealth are going to sneak in while a squad of Landguard and a blaster-heavy Special Unit act as a diversion. The stealth squads have orders to infiltrate the Deorsi encampment and take out their senior mages."

"That sounds...tricky," I told him, looking for a nicer word than 'insane', which was the first one that came to mind. It was a camp full of eighty thousand highly alert professional soldiers that doubtlessly kept sentries and magical alarms and wards and guard animals, oh my.

He shrugged, stone-faced. "It's a suicide mission. They all know it. They also know that it's necessary. Without the Deorsi's magical superiority, we may have a chance."

I nodded. I wish I was more bothered by it but, honestly, I wasn't. I had never met those people and therefore their fate did not activate the ancestral brain-machinery concerned with protecting the tribe. Instead, I could see the cold logic of it. I still wasn't about to say anything stupid like "Well, that'll help" since Thomas probably knew all of those people closely and his ancestral brain-machinery probably **was** activated.

"I'm sorry for your loss," I said quietly. He gave the tiniest little twitch of the lips in acknowledgement.

An awkward silence fell for a long minute. Then a horrible thought occurred to me. "If we can resurrect the Landguard, can't they resurrect their mages?"

Thomas' lips twisted in a pleased smile. "They could. If their mages were dead. And they knew that."

I gaped in amazement. "You're going to replace them, aren't you? You're going to replace their highest level mages and use them as double agents, aren't you?"

For a moment he stayed stone-faced, and then a sly smile broke out and he nodded.

"Ok, that is so full of awesome I can't even tell you. But how are they going to pass? All of the other mages and orderlies and military commanders must know them well."

His grin got wider. "It's amazing what magic can do for a stealth mission. To get in with you have Boots of Elvenkind, Invisibilty, Silence...lots of things. And once you're in, you disguise yourself as the person. If you have decent ranks in Disguise and Bluff, and you aren't too different from your target, then you can pile up Alter Self, Change Self, Polymorph, and Veil. Anyone trying to see through your disguise needs to hit a DC of 72. Sure, people who are intimate with the target get +10 on their Spot check but so what? Some of the spells will run out after an hour or two, but most of them will last plenty long enough. Limit contact and you can keep the charade going for days."

It was simply too awesome for words. Apparently I had been wrong; I wasn't in a D&D fanfic, I was in the most shatteringly awesome Tom Clancy novel ever—or maybe a Robert Ludlum _Bourne_ novel. But then I kept thinking through the consequences.

"But it won't really work, will it? Or, at least, it won't work long enough. They'll figure it out and then they'll resurrect the mage or mages that we replace."

After a moment he nodded. "Yes. If we kill them and then replace them, it'll buy time but it won't actually stop them. When you've got clerics capable of casting True Resurrection—and we need to assume that they do—it's essentially impossible to kill someone dead enough. Even a sphere of annihilation will allow them to be brought back through divine intervention, and Miracle will allow that. But, if the Specials can keep the masquerade going long enough, that'll give us a chance—especially if they can relay intelligence or misdirect the enemy.

"But killing the mages is just the fallback strategy; plan A is to kidnap them. Prevent them from casting, keep their spell book away from them, and they're helpless. And because they aren't dead, they can't be resurrected. They need to be kept protected from scrying so the enemy can't launch a rescue, but that's manageable."

I had a sick feeling that I didn't want to know, but I wanted to know. "How do you keep them from casting?"

He shrugged. "Most wizard spells require either verbal or somatic components. A wizard needs a functioning tongue and hands to manage those." He paused for a long, cruel minute; I'm pretty sure he did it just to mess with me. "Of course, a Feeblemind spell will work even better, if you have one handy." He grinned, knowing he'd gotten me.

An idea way at the back of my brain raised its hand, asking permission to stand up in front of the class. Before I could get a good look at it, though, we came to a walkway overlooking the castle bailey and looked out. Below us was a hive of activity, with multiple clusters of people standing here and there talking intently. At the many long tables men and women sat shoulder to shoulder to shoulder, scribbling on parchment at a furious pace.

I eyed all that for a moment and sighed. "I just hope that this works."

Thomas nodded, staring blank-faced out at the activity in the courtyard. "Yes, let's."

o-o-o-o-o-o

Although the Archmages and Thomas had a good plan—or perhaps _because_ they did—I felt the need to earn my keep. Yep, time to come up with something clever.

It was exactly at this point that my mind went utterly blank. I spent the next several minutes mentally flailing around staring at what my high school chemistry teacher used to call the No-Eye Deer. Finally, when that failed to produce any sort of results whatsoever, I backed up and made myself look at the problem more systematically.

If the Deorsi's next attack was anything like the last one—and there was no reason to think it wouldn't be, since why change a winning tactic?—then we could expect lots more troops, without any warning, appearing at some random spot in the city. We couldn't stop them through sheer force of arms; we had been lucky to stop them last time, even though we happened to have hundreds of troops right on the spot along with the nastiest taser ever invented. We needed some force multipliers; magic was the obvious choice, but it was in limited supply. What could be done with purely mundane items? A lot of ideas stolen from modern warfare were non-starters because of the lack of explosives in this world...although I could partially get around that with magic such as Explosive Runes, but that kind of magic was a limited resource and couldn't be produced in mass quantities.

That was when it hit me. I needed something effective, using as little magic as possible, and easily scalable so that it could be deployed throughout the city. And I knew exactly the thing.

"Suze, pass a message for me, would you? I want at least a thousand pounds of flour spread out in a thin layer at each of the places where we expect the Deorsi might show up. Also, I want as many Portable Holes as we can scare up, and as many Bags of Holding as possible, especially the big ones. Bring 'em here to the castle and sort them by size. Also bring in half a dozen of the cannons and their crews and ammo. Finally, I need every mage that can teleport to get out into the city and get familiar with the possible destinations. Have each one of them look at the area twice, then move on. That will get them to the 'seen casually' level, and we don't have time for them to spend an hour studying each of sixteen different locations."

She nodded and dashed off, returning a few minutes later with several of the couriers in tow. "I told Clay; he's the mage in charge of coordinating the ones in the bailey. He'll pass the word to find the teleport mages. I sent most of the servants out to find the Portable Holes and Bags. And I brought John, Derrik, and Jason with me in case you have other orders to pass."

I smiled, pleased at her forethought. "Thanks Suze, I should have thought of that."

She blushed and ducked her head. Clearly, we still needed to work on that self-confidence.

That thought reminded me of Duncan, killed along with Robert, Rob, Bob, and Aerith. It was a sad thought, made only slightly easier by the knowledge that they would be back once there was time enough for all the necessary True Resurrections.

I forced my thoughts away from the missing men and back towards thinking up as many nasty ideas for our inevitable invaders as I could. The ideas were starting to flow thick and fast, and I was starting to feel a little more confident of our chances.

"Ok, Derrik," I said, turning to the pimple-faced teenage courier that Suze had previously introduced. "I want you to send a bunch of people shopping for me, there's a few more things we'll need..."

The feverish work continued far into the night; each hour that passed making our chances very slightly better.


	14. chapter 14

_**Author's Note, part the first:**_ _Iä iä TSR fhtagn! Shub-Paizo, Ye That Is the Gate, intercede with the mighty Wizards That Dwell at Waves' Edge!_

 _ **Author's Note, part the second:**_ _ebfiddler is an excellent author with some truly great Firefly and Castle 'fic that you should totally check out. I mention this because she has given me several pieces of useful critique and/or suggestion. Seriously, go read her stuff. You'll be glad you did._

* * *

The scribing work went on through the night, new wizards rotating in as the originals got tired. I stayed up until the wee hours, then crashed for a bit; the entire Landguard spent the night in my room, four of them sleeping in their armor and four of them beside the bed, two on either side, swords drawn. Despite the deep, luxurious mattress and the silk sheets, it was probably the most uncomfortable night of my life, the worry making my belly tie itself in knots. (Also, silk sheets? What was this, the Playboy mansion? They sound romantic and all, but I kept sliding off the dang bed.)

I woke up to the sound of someone pounding on my door and calling for me frantically. "M'Lord, M'Lord, wake up! The Deorsi are here!"

I was up and out of bed before my brain caught up, adrenaline flooding through me. Harry and Franklin, the two Landguard at the foot of the bed, were already opening the door. Thomas and the others who had been asleep were surging to their feet, blades out.

No time to futz with weird clothes, so I grabbed my blue jeans off the chair and thrust one leg in, hopping a bit to catch my balance before I could get the other leg in and get the pants buttoned. Then I looked up at the messenger.

He was a brown-haired man in his mid-thirties, probably one of the downstairs stewards. He was badly out of breath, clearly having run to get here; as the door opened, he bent over, hands on his knees, trying to get his breath back.

"Where are they, John? How many? And when did they start arriving?" demanded Thomas.

"It's just...a dozen...of them, Commander," he said, huffing and puffing. "They're waiting at...the near edge of...Jeweler's Square. They appeared maybe thirty...minutes ago, and they're asking for parley with His Lordship."

Interestingly, it turns out that, although arguing with my mother is still the Most Frustrating Thing In The History of Ever, arguing with a paladin is a close second. And both of those things are so much more frustrating than arguing with a brick wall that you can't even find "brick wall" on the frustration chart. Thomas was determined that I wouldn't go anywhere near the Deorsi, and I was determined that I would.

After the first few rounds of yes-I-will-no-you-won't, I recognized the victory play: "If I can negotiate a truce with them, we'll save millions of lives. It would be a good thing for the Land."

Thomas glared, but couldn't refute me. I knew it was a cheap shot, but if there was any chance of achieving peace I was determined to take it. Not that I actually expected it to be possible (hellooooo, Genre Savvy here!) but I still had to try.

"Look, I'm not stupid, Thomas. This almost certainly isn't for real—they're winning, and between their numbers, their mages, and that teleportation trick of theirs they're going to be almost impossible to beat. There's no reason for them to actually negotiate for peace; most likely this is a demand for our surrender. If not, then it's probably a delaying tactic, a probe for information, or a straight up trick. But no matter what it is, talking to them is a good idea. If by some miracle they do want to make peace, we should take it. And if not, maybe we can get information from them, or interfere with their plan, whatever it is."

He looked thoughtful at that. "Fair enough. But you're going with more than just the eight of us. We'll grab a few regulars, plus the three special squads that are in the city."

"Sounds good to me. I have no interest in getting captured or killed. There's something else we can bring though. How many Portable Holes did we manage to scare up?"

He frowed. "A couple dozen, why?"

I grinned. "I've got a hell of a surprise in mind for the Deorsi."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

It took a couple of hours to get everything and everyone together, but we were finally standing in front of the Deorsi in Jeweler's Square. Thomas wasn't kidding about the protective detail; he had brought all eight surviving Landguard, fifteen members of the Special Squads who looked almost as deadly as the 'Guard, all three of the Archmagi, the Archpriest and no less than twelve of his Hierophants and High Priests, and "a few" regular army soldiers...by which I mean, the entire eighty-seven-man Edolian Cuirassiers company. The Cuirassiers were elite cavalry from the hilly northwest; they fought with lance, sword, and lightning wand, and were frequently blooded against the many bandits infesting the northern edge of Edolia. Good troops to have at your back. (And the irrelevant fact that Edolia was ruled by Duke Frederick, my nemesis on the Conclave, didn't bother me in the slightest. Nope, nope, nope. Honestly, the mere fact that my back was being covered by elite troops from Freddie's home state, who were probably highly loyal to him, didn't set even one tiny little bit of skin-crawling worry sliding icily up and down my spine. Really.)

Almost a hundred and fifty bodyguards to meet with a dozen people. It was a bit like the President going to lunch with a foreign dignitary while being escorted by Delta Force, the Green Berets, and a panzer division. (Yes, yes, I know: panzers are German, not American. Back off, it's an awesome word.)

Waiting for us was a small group surrounding a short, portly man in his early fifties, brown hair shot with grey, and a face like a cherub. His well-worn uniform had no decorations or signs of rank but the way his companions deferred to him made it painfully clear that he was in charge.

Their leader may have looked like someone's favorite uncle, but his companions were something entirely different. Of the people standing around him, six were clearly wizards; the staves in hand, wands in belts, spell component pouches, and robes (three of which _actually had stars embroidered on them_!) were a bit of a giveaway. Two others were high level clerics, if the religious objects hanging from their necks were anything to go by. The remaining seven were four men and three women in armor, all of whom looked like human wolverines and had bared steel in their hands (gripped _in_ their hands, not coming _from_ their hands—different kind of wolverines). They formed a ring around the others, facing out, glaring at everyone nearby. It was abundantly clear that they were prepared to shred anyone who made the slightest hostile move, or implied a hostile move, or just sort of looked vaguely like they might idly consider making a hostile move at some unknown point in the future.

Standing next to an armed nuke would have been more stressful. Maybe. Well, probably. But this situation was still clearly a powder keg, and it needed to be defused fast.

Their cherubic leader caught sight of my party and stepped forward, pushing past his bodyguard and smiling widely. "Ah, welcome! You must be the new ruler of this fine land...Jake, was it? May I call you Jake, or would you prefer to keep this formal and titled? If so, please let me know what title you've chosen. And let's see...you must be Thomas, Commander of the Landguard, correct? I must say, your troops are simply astounding! Congratulations on creating such an elite fighting force—truly, they do you proud. And, hmm...you, sirs, must be Archmage Isaac Davidson, Archmage Reynard Aguillard, and Archmage Matthew of no last name that we've been able to discover. Quite impressive, all of you! Everything I've heard has said that you are all exceptionally gifted, not to mention powerful; I'm simply delighted to meet you. My companion, Highmage Lukas Kappel," he waved to a tall mage with an aquiline nose behind him, "has expressed a strong desire to meet with you to discuss your discoveries in...ah, what was it Lukas? 'Divination and how it relates to planar boundaries' if I recall properly? In any case, yes, the four of you really should make some time to sit down together. And, finally, last but by no means least, Archpriest Michael, son of John. Sir, your reputation precedes you and that reputation is as a shining beacon in the night, guiding your flock to safety and peace. I'm so glad you could be here; it truly is an honor."

Crickets chirped somewhere. Not in the city. But somewhere.

After a minute, I kicked my brain back into gear. "Ah, thank you...?"

He actually slapped his forehead (who does that?). "I do apologize, in the excitement of meeting you all I forgot to introduce myself. High Marshal Albrecht Löfgren, at your service."

I was again a bit bollixed; this bubbly, friendly man was the commander of the massive army that was stomping everything in their path with ruthless efficiency? That had completely eradicated two entire cities full of people, killing everything down to domestic pets? Clearly, this universe was even more fundamentally broken than I had thought; villains are supposed to be...well, villainous. Where was his eerily billowing cape? Where was the finely waxed mustache? The white cat, even? Seriously, what did a guy have to do to get an archnemesis with some professional pride?

I finally managed a limping response to His Effusiveness. "Thank you, High Marshal. If you don't mind my asking...what exactly _are_ you doing here?"

He smiled broadly, as delighted as a child eating ice cream while watching his school burn to the ground. "I simply _had_ to meet anyone creative enough to conceive of that meteor strike tactic. It was an expensive lesson, but no lesson worth the learning doesn't have a cost. However much I regret the loss of my men, it was utterly brilliant, and I appreciate you teaching us such an effective tactic."

Oh crap. My stomach dropped straight through my feet and into the Earth's core. I hadn't thought of the possibility of them turning around and bombing _us_. And since they had more powerful mages than we did they would be able to pull it off more easily and more frequently than we could. I had just shown them how to destroy entire cities with no cost to themselves.

This was not my best day ever.


	15. chapter 15

_**Author's Note**_ _: Still don't own D &D._

* * *

Albrecht let us stew for a minute, smiling the whole time, then picked up the conversational ball again. "In any case, to answer your question more completely, we came here in order to discuss our mutual goals and see if we couldn't arrive at some agreement that would beneft everyone. Would you please join us?" Behind him, two of his warrior bodyguards dropped a Portable Hole on the ground, jumped in, and hoisted out a two-person table, two chairs, and a full dinner service including linen table cloth, crystal goblets, and four mirror-polished silver chafing dishes on a cherrywood side table. The food in the chafing dishes was clearly still hot, as I could see wisps of steam escaping from them.

Ok, really? This man looked like a slightly slimmer Santa Claus, talked like a well-educated fanboy, conquered half of the country, slaughtered tens of thousands—if not hundreds of thousands—of people, and now he suddenly appeared out of nowhere and invited me to a fancy sit-down breakfast in the middle of my own capital? Yet again, this universe was on the express track for Crazytown. (And, on that subject, exactly when had I started thinking of it as "my" capital, anyway?)

Thomas and I entered into a very rapid discussion that consisted entirely of looking at each other and some minor shrugs and grimaces. Had anyone had a "Comprehend Language (Body)" running at the time we probably would have sounded something like this: "So, I guess I should sit down?" "It's a trap!" "First, you aren't nearly squiddy enough to say that. Second, sure, of course it is. But, the Land." "Argh. Fine, I still can't argue with that. I don't like it, but I can't argue with it." "So I should sit down?" "...Sure. Fine, whatever. Just don't come crying to me when the pain and blood and death and pain start."

Carefully, I sat in the chair opposite Albrecht. _My_ bodyguard formed up behind me, weapons drawn. _His_ bodyguard spread out behind him, weapons drawn, forming a loose circle and facing in all directions. The Cuirassiers spread out to surround both groups, standing back about twenty feet in two ranks. Both sets of bodyguards glared across the table at their opposite numbers.

One of his people, without ever ceasing to glower at us, removed the covers from the chafing dishes. My nose was immediately assaulted by the scent of fresh baked bread seemingly straight from the oven, blackberries floating in cream and covered in sugar, and—I kid you not—fresh, piping hot omelettes. How in the hell they had fresh, hot omelettes when they'd been waiting for at least two hours, I have no idea. In addition, there were two decanters of juice, grapefruit and orange, a teapot glazed in swirls of blues and whites, and a large pitcher of water with ice and slices of lemon.

Then they lifted up the lid of the last chafing dish and the delicious aroma of crispy bacon wafted across the table to me. _Men frying on the Plaza, dancing like hyperactive marionnetes as their skin sizzled with the electricity from my generators._ I gagged, fighting to not toss last night's dinner all over the table.

The bubbly little man across from me poured a cup of reddish liquid from the teapot and extended it across the table to me. "Tea? We brought it from Anundjå. As far as I can tell, you have nothing like this variety here, and I think you'll like it. It's made from biska flowers; light, a bit fruity, with a slight peppery flavor. I find it quite delicious. It's also a bit medicinal—excellent for soothing sore throat and bad stomachs." His lips quirked just slightly as he said that.

It smelled good, hints of peppermint and ginger that promised relief. I lifted it to my lips and started to gulp it down, but a mailed hand blocked me. Looking up at Thomas, I saw him frowning at the ring on his hand, a greenish cabochon set in a plain steel band.

Albrecht smiled widely, looking friendly and amused. "I beg your pardon, I should have offered immediately. Please, Commander, do check all the food first. In fact, please sample everything. There _are_ such things as binary toxins, after all, which don't register as poison until mixed. Oh, and don't forget to check the flatware and the glasses."

Thomas frowned and waved Franklin forward. (Yes, I can in fact remember names when the people in question have spent twenty four hours within an armslength of me.) Being the junior man present, apparently it was Franklin's job to throw himself on any food-based grenades that might come along.

The young Landguard quickly ran his ring—identical to Thomas's; apparently they were standard issue, like the Haversacks—over all the dishes and table accoutrements, then took a bite from each of the chafing dishes, sampled the various beverages, and ran the ring over himself. Whatever the ring was supposed to do in the presence of poison, it didn't do it. Finally Thomas stepped back and Franklin rejoined the ranks.

Albrecht had watched all this calmly, continuing to look amused. Once the inspection was over, he selected a bit of each item, arranged it carefully on one of the bone china plates, and passed it across the table to me. With a grin, he commented, "You know, if I had wanted you dead, there are easier ways than bringing myself and a small bodyguard to your very capital and arranging a pleasant brunch just so that I could make a hare-brained attempt to slip poison past a bodyguard as conscientious and effective as the Landguard."

I stared glumly at the bacon on the edge of my plate. _~Damnit, I love bacon. Bacon is delicious. This is so unfair.~_ Even looking at it made me a bit queasy, so I nudged it carefully off my plate and covered it with my napkin. Once it was out of sight and scent, I gulped down the contents of my teacup and waited for it to settle my stomach. Feeling a bit of color come back, I smiled tentatively. "Ok, fair point. But if you don't want me dead, why are you here? For that matter, why are you in Flobovia at all?"

He took a moment to pour himself a glass of the orange juice, gazed at it contemplatively for a moment, and took a small sip. "You're familiar with the various creatures of this world, of course. Tell me, what do shadows, wights, and wraiths have in common?"

I frowned. Riddles? Well, maybe there was a point. I flipped through the Brainopedia, reading up on the three monsters and looking for commonalities. There were a lot.

"Well...they're all undead, they all drain stats when they hit, and if they kill you you come back as one of them. Why?"

He took another sip, leaning back in his chair and eyeing me. "How are you at multiplication? Consider the implications."

I frowned, not sure where he was going with this. "Consider the implications of what?"

He sighed, looking vaguely disappointed. "Think. A single wight enters a small village—say, a hundred farmers or fisherman—and begins killing. What happens?"

I thought about it before finally realizing what he meant. "Holy crap. The wight kills someone; they come back as a wight. The two wights kill two more people. It's a geometric progression." The more I thought about it, the more terrifying it became.

Something seemed wrong though; after a moment I had it. "But that can't be; if it really worked like that, you couldn't kill them fast enough to keep up. The world would have been destroyed long ago. So why hasn't it?"

His smile became sad. "It has. At least seven times that we know of. On average, it seems to happen roughly every four millenia; the most recent was forty five hundred years ago, so we're overdue. Rather, we _were_ overdue; we aren't anymore. It's starting again."

I frowned. "That's not possible. If the undead managed to kill off all sentient life, how would the situation ever reverse itself? Even if any new humans or elves or whatever started to evolve, there would be hundreds of millions of undead everywhere. The new lifeforms would be eliminated immediately, before they could get a toehold. The fact that we're having this conversation means that it doesn't work like that."

"Oh, but it does." He lifted his eyes, looking behind me. "Archmage Isaac, you are a historian. How many ancient civilizations are you aware of that no longer exist?"

Isaac's pomposity sounded troubled. "Six. The most recent being the Theocracy of Ainaalacar, which splintered apart fifty-eight hundred years ago. The histories say that Ainaalacar fell because 'a darkness settled in the hearts of all.' The standard interpretation has always been that that meant the High Oracle had become selfish and grasping, if not actually evil, and the lesser lords revolted. But...there is a mention in the journal of Sertasil, Third Mage of the Lorekeepers, in which he talks about a group of adventurers who were hired to destroy a vampire coven. Two of the adventurers were lost to the vampires, and he described it as 'their blood was drained and their hearts filled with blackest night, and thus they became the scourge they sought to cleanse.'"

There was silence for a long moment; everyone on my side of the table was shaken. Even Thomas was looking pale. Finally I managed to collect my voice and asked, "So, this brings us back to the original question. If the world works like that, why are there still people? What is it that gets rid of the undead and makes room for sentient life to evolve again?"

Albrecht raised an eyebrow. "Surely you don't believe in evolution, do you Jake? Everyone knows that the gods create life."

I shook my head. "No, people evolved from...ah, crap." It dawned on me that, in this screwed-up world, people might _actually_ have been sculpted from the dust by the hand of an actual invisible sky daddy, who really did want people to set bovine giblets on fire in order to venerate him.

"Fine, the gods create people. So, your implication is that they also periodically destroy all the people and start over. Is it always undead?"

"Not always, no. In Anundjå we have records of a flood, a plague of demons, an 'eternal' winter, a curtain of fire, and three risings of the drauga—what you call the undead."

I rubbed my eyes tiredly. "Ok, fine. So every few thousand years, the gods push the reset button. And I guess in the meantime they work to keep things from blowing up? They limit the numbers of the undead and so on?"

Albrecht nodded. "Exactly. We don't understand what causes them to go from protecting the world to destroying it, but it seems to happen regularly. The oddest thing is that even while they are destroying all life, they continue to grant power to their chosen ones—clerics, paladins, and so on. Divine spells continue to be available, the power to turn undead continues to work, etc. It makes no sense, but it is so. There are any number of theories in my country to explain it, each wilder than the last. The truth is that no one knows."

The Archpriest had finally had all he could take. "This is nonsense! Why would the Lord of Light allow this to happen? He is a loving god, and would never seek to destroy his children."

Albrecht flashed him a sardonic smile. "History would suggest otherwise, Your Benevolence."

I decided to intercept that conversation before it went too far off the rails. "Ok, let's assume for the sake of argument that you're right. The gods periodically wipe out all life and then start over, for whatever reason. What does that have to do with us, right now? With why you're here, slaughtering your way across Flobovia?"

Albrecht shrugged. "I should think it obvious. The world is about to be destroyed; all peoples must stand united and work smoothly together in order to prevent it. The Union of Anundjå has been striving to hold back the darkness for over a hundred and fifty years now. At first, we tried to work in concert with our neighbors; that failed. One after another there was too much resistance; nobles and rulers too proud to do what was necessary if it meant giving up any control or any of their prerogatives. About ninety years ago, three of the nations adjoining us fell to the drauga; Anundjå depended on exports from those countries for food and certain metals, so we had to send in the legions to reclaim the land and push back the enemy hordes. We lost millions in the fighting. In the end, we were stretched too thin and the shadows broke through, destroying large sections of Anundjå. We barely managed to beat them back before we lost everything. Since then, we've simply brought other nations under our control so that we could coordinate more effectively. We generally don't care too much about local governance as long as our orders are met promptly and efficiently. It's worked well so far; since we started this policy, we've held the line against the drauga and even reclaimed some ground."

He paused, gauging our reaction. "Of course, that's all predicated on having the troops. You killed over twenty thousand legionnaires in one attack. Many of our records were destroyed in the strike, so identifying all those killed is proving time consuming; so far we've only managed to bring back—how many was it, Joss?"

One of the clerics behind him answered without inflection. "Four thousand, seven hundred and twenty four as of this morning, High Marshal."

He nodded, "Yes, just so. Thank you, Joss." Turning back to us, he continued. "As I was saying, it's been two whole days and we haven't even resurrected a quarter of those killed. We probably won't have the rest back on their feet for another four or five days, which is terribly embarrassing; back home, the High Command is receiving angry missives left and right from the families of those who are still waiting for resurrection, and they're passing the misery on to me multiple times a day." He paused for another sip of juice and a delicate bite of his omelette; his lips were still smiling, but his eyes glittered with calculation. "As much as I admire the ingenuity of your tactic, it's been awfully inconvenient; the amount of paperwork I'm having to handle is simply astounding. That's why I thought I should come here and have this little talk."

We all stared at him in shock. We had wiped out the population of a large town, and he considered it "inconvenient"?


	16. chapter 16

_**Author's Note**_ _: D &D? Yeah, not mine._

* * *

In two days, he had resurrected nearly five thousand men? That was a quarter of Flobovia's entire army! Given how complete the destruction had been, the remains would have been, at most, scraps of flesh mixed in with tons of dust and rubble. Neither Raise Dead nor Resurrection would be practical in those circumstances, they would need to use a full True Resurrection. That was a ninth level spell! How the hell could he _possibly_ have that many high-level clerics in his army?

"Forgive me but the idea that you have that many archclerics in your service is...difficult to accept," I offered cautiously. I didn't want to insult the man, but I needed more information about this resurrection thing.

Albrecht chuckled, then looked down at the food for a moment. "Ah, but I forget my manners! While I've been babbling on, the food has been getting cold. Please try the omelette? My chef is quite talented; he used to run one of the best restaurants in Halsaland—that's our capital, and a lovely city, famed for its food." He forked several slices of bacon onto a side plate, added a healthy slide of the bread and some butter, and passed me the plate. Mechanically, I tore off a bit of the bread and chewed. It was amazing; I could easily have had just that for breakfast and been perfectly happy.

"Going back to that meteor strike tactic for a moment, I was very impressed with you for designing it, Jake," he offered, pausing a moment to fork up a slice of eggy goodness. "One doesn't normally see such creativity in such a young man. How old are you, anyway, Jake?" His words were casual, and he wasn't looking at me, being busy with his food.

I was still stumbling over the five thousand resurrections, so it took me a minute to manage to reconnect my speech centers. "Just turned forty, why?"

"Oh, I was just curious. You move and talk like a young man, but you've got just enough gray to have some wisdom. I remember being forty; it was a long time ago, but I remember it. Those were good days." He smiled fondly, eyes looking off into a distant time.

I was confused; he wasn't that much older than me. "Can't have been that long ago. You're, what, fifty? _Maybe_ fifty-five?"

He grinned that Santa Claus grin at me, setting his knife and fork down and champing gustily on his bacon. "Oh, thank you! No, actually I'm four hundred and seventy two...four hundred and seventy three next month, in fact. I'm thinking I may go in for my rejuvenation early; I was considering getting some bodymods—perhaps even go female again for a few decades. I haven't done that in a couple hundred years and it might be a good idea; keep me in better touch with my female troopers and peers. You should try it; it's quite an odd experience the first time. For one thing, women tend to be shorter, so you'll be looking up a lot more than a tall man like you is used to. I, of course, don't have that problem." He laughed lightly at himself, indicating his lack of stature. "It's also very different being a mother instead of a father. For now however, I think fifty seven kids is probably enough; I'm ahead of my mandated duty to the Union, I can afford to take a break for a decade or so. Do you have any children of your own, Jake? If not, you really should. Children are the gifts of paradise—well, except when they're being the spawn of the devils, of course." He chuckled fondly.

It turns out that, after _enough_ shocks, your brain stops being surprised. Any new pieces of information, no matter how astounding, simply get received as _~Sure, why not? Isn't everyone multiple centuries old and casually talking about being transgendered for a while and having more children than four generations of my family?~_

"No, no kids. I was married once, but all our kids had four feet and fur. So...are you unusually old for the Union?"

He laughed, a cheery ringing sound like windchimes in summer. "Oh, heavens no! I'm actually remarkably young for my position. The next youngest member of the Assembly is..." his brow furrowed in concentration, clearly trying to remember. Finally he looked behind him at one of his bodyguard. "Kadja, that would be Highlord Alvar, wouldn't it? How old is he, do you remember?"

One of the wolverine-looking women, dressed in black leathers and carrying a sword and handaxe with multiple other handaxes fastened to her harness, responded dryly. "Seven hundred and forty eight, High Marshal; his birthday is the eighth of Heyannir. This year, he's planning on a quiet ceremony in the mountains, with his ninth and eleventh wives. I've already made arrangements to send your congratulations and a gift."

He pursed his lips in interest for a moment, nodding. "Out of curiosity, what did I get him?"

"A year's subscription to _Communications of the Association for Conjuration Magic_."

Again that delighted, childlike smile creased the cherubic face. "Yes, he would like that; he was always a bit of a theorist. I'm so glad I thought of it." He chuckled and shook his head ruefully. "Ah, Kadja, what would I do without you? Truly, Lady Providence was smiling on me the day you came to my service."

For just one moment, she looked away from her targets, meeting his eyes with an amused smile. "I believe it also had something to do with me fighting my way through the hordes of Assemblyfolk who wanted the post, then arguing with you for three days that a low-class Legionnaire from the back of Karnsarland would be able to go to Assembly functions without spitting on the floor."

He smiled right back at her, old friends sharing a familiar joke. "Well, yes, I do seem to recall more than a few split lips and black eyes among the junior Assemblyfolk that year. Shocking business that, how many of them had suddenly become so clumsy as to walk into doors."

Her eyes twinkled, and then she locked them back on the Archmagi, whom she clearly perceived as the major threat from our side of the table.

Albrecht turned back to us, still with a fond expression. "In addition to being the leader of my personal guard, Kadja is my aide de camp and social secretary. I would say that she's a remarkably talented woman, but then she might use that against me the next time we discuss her salary."

I couldn't help but smile at that myself; I looked away from Albrecht and directly at the leather-clad warrior behind him. "Kadja, you do seem talented. People like you are paid a fortune where I'm from. Whatever he's paying you, you should definitely demand a raise. And if he won't give it to you, come talk to me. I could always use skilled warriors smart enough to remember the names, ages, and birthdays of every noble in the nation."

She seemed surprised by that. "Hear that, Albrecht? _Someone_ appreciates me and is willing to pay appropriately."

"Hey, no fair!" yelped Albrecht with an outraged tone and a hurt expression. "No trying to hire my bodyguard away from me! Besides, she wouldn't go. She's passionately devoted to me, for all time and across all chance. Isn't that right, Kadja?"

She snorted but said nothing. Her eyes stayed locked on the Archmagi, but she was smiling.

" _~Wouldn't it be nice if she were actually serious?~"_ I thought idly. The intelligence we could get from that woman would be game-changing. Clearly, there was no possibility of it actually happening, but for a moment I allowed myself to dream. Then again...intelligence doesn't have to be shared _willingly_ to be of use. I shoved that thought away; Albrecht was clearly an intelligent, probably brilliant, man and a capable general. He would not have come here with such a small bodyguard unless he was completely certain that he could get himself and his cohort out of any trouble that started. Also, it was a parley and so under flag of truce. (I felt a bit guilty for thinking of that second.)

The plump little general popped the last bit of bacon in his mouth, his face suffused with sensual pleasure as he savored its crunchy deliciousness. Finally he swallowed and sighed contentedly, sitting back comfortably and sipping slowly at the last of his orange juice.

"So, rejuvenation is common in Anundjå?" I asked, trying hard to sound casual. "For everyone, or just for those in power?"

He seemed genuinely horrified and no little offended by my question. "For everyone, of course! How could we possibly maintain a population of a billion people if we allowed them all to _die_? For that matter, why would you even dream that we would allow people to die, particularly of something as ridiculous and trivial as _old age_?! Should we allow them to become old and decrepit, infirm and in pain every day of their lives? Allow their relatives and friends the sorrow and grief and loneliness of losing them? Lose the benefit that their knowledge and experience bring to society? What kind of psychopathic monsters do you take us for?"

I was...humbled by his reaction. It was the only word that fit for the shame I felt at asking such a thing. I had long thought the same things myself, I had just never had a chance to do anything about it, rejuvenation magic being in fairly short supply in modern America. "I'm sorry. Nothing even close to that exists where I'm from, nor does it exist in Flobovia."

He stared at me for a moment, his usually cheery face slumping into sadness. "Yes, I know. By all reports, the people of Oxport and Tor Cannle were shocked when they came to in one of the medical facilities back in Anundjå. I suspect the Healing Hand is still trying to get them properly acclimated and integrated into society."


	17. chapter 17

_**Author's Note**_ _: Still don't own D &D._

* * *

The world lurched around me. After a moment, I managed to close my mouth and stammer out "They're—all alive? You killed them, and then you brought them back? Why in the _world_ would you do that?"

Albrecht stared at me in honest confusion. "We resurrected and rejuvenated them, of course. Why wouldn't we? It would be monstrous to allow them to remain dead when it's so easy to return them to their friends and families."

The Archpriest stepped forward; the air around him was literally shimmering with his rage. "How _dare_ you?! You ripped those people back from the peace of the True God's arms to this world of pain and misery? _How dare you_?!"

The general opposite me rose slowly to his feet, hands on the table and leaning forward. Suddenly, there was no trace of Albrecht Löfgren, the charming and effusive uncle-figure. This was the High Marshal of Anundjå, a general hundreds of years old who conquered vast territory with terrifying ease. His voice was soft but it shook with rage. "How dare I? How dare I bring them back to be with their loved ones, to help build a society of grace and knowledge that climbs ever upwards despite the undead horrors it faces? A society that has conquered death, and disease, and hurts of all form? That fights every single day to prevent the total destruction of life on this planet? How dare I bring them back to live, to love, to better the world with their existence? Do you realize that all those souls that pass on to the Outer Planes eventually disperse and cease to exist as conscious entities? _How dare you allow them to die, you heartless simpleton!_ "

The Archpriest raised his hand, speaking words of power that would blot Albrecht from the face of the earth; the High Marshal's bodyguard raised their wands and their weapons and were a tenth of a second from firing, and oh my god we were all going to die and after us the Deorsi would pour through their portal and burn this city to the ground and—

Thomas punched the Archpriest in the back of the head, hard.

Michael, son of John, this world's equivalent of the Pope, the next best thing to an avatar of a major god, sprawled to the ground and skidded several yards across the paving stones. His spell fizzled away in a shower of golden sparks as his words were interrupted. The Hierophants and High Priests started casting against Thomas, but the Landguard were suddenly right up in their faces, the tips of their blades literally in the casters' mouths, disrupting their spells mid-syllable.

The tension eased very slowly. We all recognized that we were balanced on the edge of the abyss and no one wanted to be the one that took the wrong step that would push us over.

After a moment, Albrecht seated himself again and busied his hands with the teapot. He kept his head down, eyes locked on the table as he struggled to master himself. Once the tart ruby tea was poured and stirred to his satisfaction he took a long sip, eyes closed, breathing deeply and slowly. Nearly a minute later, he opened his eyes again and locked them on me like twin gun barrels. There was no trace of the happy, bubbly man with whom I had shared a delicious meal. (On the other hand, he was no longer in the grip of that killing rage so, win.)

"We seem to have hit something of a difficulty in our conversation," Albrecht informed us in a dead flat tone. "I had intended to do this in a gentle fashion, to bring you into the Union as friends and allies. I had thought that your willingness to accept the deaths of millions was simply because you lacked the means to solve the problem, but now that I have seen the attitude of your primary church, I realize that this monstrosity is through deliberate choice. Therefore, we shall speak more plainly.

"One way or another, Flobovia will become part of the Union of Anundjå. You will lend your strength to protecting all life from the drauga. I would prefer if you joined willingly, but it is within my power to conquer this nation by fire and sword. You know it, I know it. Even if you were, by some miracle, able to wipe out my Expeditionary Force, I could have a full Legion—or ten Legions, if need be—here within a day. According to our last census, the Union has nearly a _billion_ citizens, and fully thirty percent are under arms. Do you understand what that means? We have ten times as many soldiers as you have citizens. If you force me to, I can quite literally flood your country with troops."

He paused and swept his eyes over us all, most especially the Archpriest, who was being assisted to his feet by one of his Hierophants. "Make no mistake; if the drauga are not already here in numbers, they will come. Without support from Anundjå you will all die, to the last babe in arms."

Again that measured pause. "Should you force us to expend the effort to conquer you, you will become a vassal state. Vassal states live under martial law; self governance is denied, and every single citizen, including infants, is placed under Mark of Justice and Geas spells that enforce their loyalty. No native-born spellcasters are allowed to live in a vassal state; they are all drafted to the army and forward deployed. Trustworthy Anundjån casters will be assigned to maintain health and prosperity so long as, and _only_ so long as, the vassal nation is compliant. This is not a fate you should desire.

"On the other hand, should you agree to join the Union willingly, Flobovia will be accepted as a provisional member. Your military will be transferred to Anundjå. They will be dispersed and integrated into the Legions, where they will guard against the drauga. Union soldiers will be assigned to guard your borders and population centers. Union officials will assume final power over your government at every level, although you will be allowed reasonable control and your local customs will be disturbed as little as possible. Union schools and guilds will be set up to lift your population to a decent standard of living. The High Church will send missionaries and found temples, which will also serve as medical stations, education centers, and bunkers where the population may be protected in the event of attack. Your existing religions will be permitted to exist so long as they do not interfere with the High Church. Every citizen will be required to produce at least one child every decade as part of their duty to the Union. These children will be educated in Union schools.

"There are carrots to go with this stick. You will receive full access to Anundjån medical treatment, including—" his eyes flashed daggers at the Archpriest, "—rejuvenation and resurrection for all citizens. Until you become full members of the Union, no citizen will be allowed to choose permanent death. You will also receive access to Anundjån transportation gates, allowing for much faster trade and greater economic growth. In a century, if you manage to establish yourselves as loyal members of the Union, you will be elevated to full membership. Your soldiers will begin to be permitted to return home, and most of your governance will be returned to local hands."

He studied us for a long minute, much as a scientist might consider a new species of beetle. "This is not a small decision; I understand that you will need time to gather your officials and discuss it. For myself, I need to finish raising my men and arrange for enough reinforcements that I can enforce martial law if you choose unwisely.

"I grant you one week to discuss it. I will hold my army where it currently stands and venture no further into your country. You have until sunrise on the eighth day from now to communicate your answer via Sending. If your answer is yes, we welcome you. If your answer is no, we will take your nation by force and your populace will become citizens of the Union whether they will it or not."

Again he paused, and when he spoke, his voice was once again hard. "Make no mistake; I grant one week's truce, and I expect to receive the same. If we are attacked, scouted, scried upon, or in any way molested before the week has expired I will burn your pissant country to the ground and pull this entire dungheap of a city apart stone by stone. No resurrections will be provided for anyone living within these walls. To speak plainly, I will condemn your souls and the souls of a million of your people to non-existence should you break faith with me; if you have any concern for those citizens you purport to shepherd, don't test me."

There was a long pause as he stared us down, anger seething in his eyes. Finally he stepped back into the circle of his attendants. "For now, I bid you good day." With that, he and all of his companions joined hands and looked to the sky. Albrecht spoke in a voice that rang across the square. "I Wish for myself and all my companions to be transported back to my command tent." They all took a single step together and disappeared like a popped soap bubble.

* * *

 _ **Author's Note, part the second:**_ _This chapter was interesting to write; I didn't recognize the implications of the Union of Anundjå's magical "technology" until I was more than halfway through. Based on what Albrecht said, the Union has passed through the Singularity and become a post-scarcity society._


	18. chapter 18

_**Author's Note:**_ _Meddle not in the affairs of WotC, for you are crunchy and delicious with lawsuit sauce._

* * *

I simply sat there, stunned. Behind me, conversation broke out in quiet, angry hisses. The Archpriest and his minions were furious with the Landguard for striking the Archpriest and then holding them all at sword point. The Landguard were furious with the Archpriest and his minions for making it necessary. Reynard was trying to mediate while Isaac pompously discoursed on the appropriate way to handle the Deorsi's ultimatum.

After a long minute the shock drained out of me, leaving only wildfire rage. I pushed myself to my feet and forced my way through the crowd to the Archpriest, shoving Hierophants, High Priests, and burly Landguard out of my way as I did. The Landguard parted to let me through, then pressed close around me, leaving just enough room to be able to fight if need be.

I got right up in the Archpriest's face; I was several inches taller than he, and I deliberately loomed, using my height for dominance.

"What exactly is your damage, you moronic little prig?! You violated a parley and nearly got us all _killed_! If you ever try something like that again, I will have you defrocked and thrown into the lowest dungeon I possess for the remainder of your goddamn life. If I don't possess a dungeon, I will by god have one built. Do you understand me?"

He put his hands on my chest and physically pushed me back, his face growing red and his eyes flashing with rage. "How dare you speak to me like that?! Do you have the slightest idea the horror that that monster was discussing so casually? People are meant to die after their allotted span, then to rest in the arms of the True God, safe in eternal bliss! That is the natural order; to change it is an abomination!"

"Bullshit! You resurrected me after the Deorsi attacked. In fact, you were perfectly willing to resurrect that dock worker, Leon, if it meant preserving your own political power on the Conclave. Where was your 'natural order' then, hm? Or is it only an abomination when someone else does it, you self-aggrandizing hypocrite?" I was too angry to choose my words, and the hot rage poured out like lava.

He was so angry his face had gone beyond red to chalk white, and he was physically shaking. "I will see you destroyed for this. The ruler's power may be absolute in theory, but in practice the people will follow their Church. Your Landguard myrmidons can't protect you from the common man, and that is exactly who I will raise against you."

I laughed right in his face. "Go for it. Take your best shot. But you better pull it off the first time, or I will disassemble your pathetic church brick by brick. I don't like gods. I don't like churches. In my world there is no God and I consider organized religion to be the most damaging thing ever invented by human beings, up to and including nuclear weapons. In this world, where there clearly _are_ gods, I don't consider them much better. So go on, give me an excuse. Just one excuse." The Landguard pressed close behind me, swords raised and death in their eyes. Had I been just a tad less furious, I would have realized that paladins are soldiers of their gods and it might not be the best idea to lay out my contempt for religion quite so plainly around them. Fortunately, it didn't matter; they were just as furious that the Archpriest had violated the parley as I was.

The Archpriest was still shaking with anger as he snapped back. "You think you can stop me, your arrogant little snot? You've alienated _everyone_ since coming here. The Landguard are your only true followers, and they are sworn to protect the common man. If I raise the people against you, they will have no choice but to stand by as we drag you into the streets and _hang you_ , you self-important nothing!"

A glacial wind swept over the lava in my brain, freezing it in jagged spires of ice. From within that ice, I stared at him for ten seconds with a look that promised death. When he opened his mouth to start in on the threats again I cut him off. "Shut it," I ordered, stepping forward and laying a hand on his shoulder to interrupt his chain of thought.

It worked; mid-syllable, he stopped talking. I tightened my grip on his shoulder, pressing my thumb into his collarbone to fix his attention as I leaned in, intruding on his personal space and forcing him back on his heels. My voice was soft and very carefully enunciated as I laid out the future for him.

"Archpriest Michael. Five minutes ago, you nearly destroyed this country. It is barely conceivable that we can stop the current Deorsi army. If we were to kill their commander during a parley, they would send in enough troops to rip this nation down stone by stone. At the very best, every citizen of Flobovia would have been conscripted into their army and sent to die fighting monsters, assuming they weren't made slaves or something worse.

"It might interest you to know that in my world there is a group called 'Buddhist monks.' These men do not believe in violence and so, in order to protest great injustice, some of them have burned themselves alive in order to become martyrs. They have accomplished great political change by doing this, and all without hurting anyone else; quite a remarkable achievement, wouldn't you agree? From now on, you will support me with your utmost effort and every resource at your disposal. You will take no action that could interfere with our truce with the Deorsi, or with how I choose to proceed when it ends. Should you fail in that duty, I will allow you the honor of causing great political change. Do you fully and completely comprehend my meaning or am I being too nuanced for you?"

I stared him in the eyes, waiting a long beat to see if he would call me on my threat. He must have been smart enough to realize that I wasn't kidding; in that moment of rage, I was cold enough to do exactly what I threatend. The anger and, yes, terror, at what had just happened had blown straight through my moral filters.

Finally, when it was clear that he would not call me out, I turned away and set off back to the castle, my stride long and quick in my anger. "Come on, Thomas, let's see if we can salvage anything from this mess." Thomas, the Archmagi, and the Cuirassiers fell in behind me in silence. The Archpriest and his minions stayed behind, glaring daggers at my back.

A few blocks later, Thomas moved up to walk beside me, leaving the others a couple paces behind. "You know that carrying out that threat would be a disaster, don't you?" he asked me softly. "If tomorrow you order us to do it, we will. But the day after that we'll have a civil war, and the Deorsi will conquer us all."

"I honestly don't give a damn at this point. Maybe I will after I cool off, but I doubt it. I don't like organized religion to start with, and that man is jumping up and down on my last nerve with his 'natural order' crap. If he screws with me, or with the Deorsi, burn him to ash."

He winced but said only, "Yes, My Lord."


	19. chapter 19

_**Author's Note**_ _: I am not the owner of D &D._

* * *

Twenty minutes later the Landguard and I were in my bedchamber; I wasn't prepared to go back to the War Room yet. I was still too angry and needed some time to cool down. Instead, I was sitting by the fire, breathing deep calming breaths while staring at Allison in the fireplace. The room was silent; even Allison wasn't prepared to potentially set me off right now. The Landguard waited patiently; Suze sat in a chair behind me, shoulders hunched and looking less comfortable than a Fundamentalist in a gay bar.

"Thomas, you remember saying that the Deorsi were likely to try to assassinate me?" The words could have sounded like idle musing, if you were deaf and stupid.

"Yes, My Lord." Thomas replied stone-faced, offering nothing more than the necessary minimum.

"Don't you think it's just as likely that they'll attempt to assassinate other major leaders, or their families? I think we've been remiss in not protecting those who matter most in Flobovia, don't you?" There was a nasty smile lurking somewhere behind my words, although their surface projected innocence—completely and deliberately unconvincing innocence.

"...Yes, My Lord?" he said uncertainly. He clearly didn't know where I was going with this and he clearly didn't like it.

"So glad you agree. Yes, we definitely need to do something about that right away. Pass the order to the army; I want all the parents, spouses and children of the Conclave members, _especially_ those of the Archpriest, brought here and given apartments in the castle. They are not to leave the castle for any reason, and are to be escorted by a trustworthy military bodyguard any time they leave their rooms. I want it done by tonight."

"Are you sure that's wise, My Lord? It could—"

"Stop talking. Get it done."

As much of a hardcase as he was, Thomas winced at that. "Yes, My Lord." There was a pause. "What should we do about Lady Shadow? No one knows who she is, let alone who her family is."

I sighed, suddenly tired. "Let it ride. If she raises trouble we'll go after her then."

"And what about Archmage Isaac? He isn't married and doesn't have any children. His parents have been dead for decades."

I sighed again, rubbing my eyes. "Look, just do the best you can, all right?"

Thomas nodded to Franklin; the young man saluted and left, looking grateful to get away.

Silence fell again. The last of the rage leached out of me, leaving only emptiness, exhaustion, and not a little despair. The whole morning had been one brutal shock after another—the incredible power that Albrecht had revealed Anundjå to possess, the power he revealed _himself_ to possess by Wishing himself and his compatriots away, the idea of five thousand troops being resurrected in two days...it was just too much. I was no longer thinking I was doomed; I was sure of it.

I slumped bonelessly in my chair with a sigh, my hands folded loosely on my belly as I pondered my onrushing doom. With gloomy precision, I tried to calculate my most likely fate. Would the Deorsi kill me, would they enslave me, or would I be eaten by rampaging hordes of undead monsters? For a moment, I felt an instinctive desire to ask for advice from...someone...but then Albrecht's example of a wight in a fishing village floated through my mind. I could see it so vividly; the twisted monster shambling through the foggy streets past the ramshackle houses. Perhaps it would come out of the water, climb up one of the docks, and lurch into town along the dirt road the fishermen used to transport their catch. It would find its first victim—perhaps a young man, on his way to tap at his girlfriend's window while her parents were asleep. It would catch him, club him to the ground with one warped limb and then pound him and pound him with its lifestealing fists until, battered and bruised, his life drained away. Moments later, his body would twist itself into a parody of its slayer and he would arise...perhaps unsteady, the monster inside taking a moment to learn which strings to pull to make its new meatpuppet move properly. It would turn to its creator; they would smile horrible, shark-toothed grins and then split up, each seeking new lives to tear away, spreading their evil and malice without bound, to the end of the earth, grinding all hope to dust, bringing despair to...

Olivia reached over with one chainmail-clad hand and tapped me on the arm.

Courage and hope blasted through me like a monsoon. The fear and despair were ripped to shreds and scattered to the winds. The wights in my mental image rounded a corner to find themselves face to face with the entire village. Common men and women, armed with fishing nets, gaffs, boathooks, knives, torches...whatever came to hand. Facing the monsters with the steely determination of men and women who made their living pulling heavy, dangerous, fish out of a freezing ocean. Storms, reefs, sandbars, infected cuts, salt spray constantly in the eyes—it was a hard life, and these people lived it every day with uncomplaining, enduring strength. A mere pair of undead was as nothing to them; within seconds the creatures were caught, netted like tuna. Moments later, they were beaten to death and then gutted just to be sure. Once it was done, everyone turned and went back to the bar to finish their drinks, calmly discussing tomorrow's weather and how it would affect the fishing.

I laughed, sitting up and looking around with a grin. "Whoooeee! Thanks, Olivia! I have no idea what that was, but it was _awesome!_ Oh yeah, we are _so_ gonna do this! A hundred thousand Deorsi? Pshah!" A dismissive snap. "Constant resurrections? That all they got?" A magnificent sneer. "They are so very done!" My voice shifted into a bad imitation of Jack Nicholson. "Wait'll they get a load of _me!_ "

Olivia leaned back, looking just slightly alarmed. The others sat stiffly, not wanting to draw the attention of the crazy person.

I looked around, grinning like a madman. "Siddown, alla yas. We gots some plannin' to do, oh yes we does." I snickered at my own silliness; right now, everything was amusing and nothing seemed impossible. Go to the moon? Sure, why not?! A few quick spells, we'd be there in a jiff! Wipe out a massively overpowered enemy army? Psah, keep lunch warm, I'll be right back!

Slowly, they took seats, Thomas settling in the chair opposite me. Ryan pulled up the chair from the desk while his twin brother James took a seat on the floor with the others. I eyed Ryan's chair with concern for a moment; Ryan and James were two of the largest and—although I would never say it out loud—ugliest men I'd ever seen. They looked like well-groomed trolls and were festooned with more weapons than any of the other Guardsmen. Seeing all the people on the floor I frowned. "Have someone bring in more chairs. Y'all shouldn't have to sit on the floor." An Earthling would probably have asked me why I was saying "y'all" when I wasn't Southern. An Earthling would have been amused when I told him "because English lacks any other unambiguous second-person pronoun, that's why." It was a carefully polished finishing line that I'd used on any number of occasions. Sadly, no one here even noticed. Sigh.

"While you're at it, get some food and drinks in here. None of you have eaten yet." Suze jumped up and dashed out the door, returning quickly with a train of upstairs servants, each of whom was carrying a plush chair. The chairs were all mismatched and had clearly been grabbed from whatever rooms happened to be closest, but they were chairs.

By the time everyone was comfortably seated, the mania had worn off. I was still positive and upbeat, but I no longer felt like a toddler loaded up on espresso and Pixy Stix. Once everyone was comfortably seated, I looked around the circle, making eye contact with each of them in turn. "So, this whole staying young and living forever thing sounds pretty cool to me. Personally, I'm saying we should surrender. What do y'all think?"

Everyone looked to Thomas. His brow furrowed in thought, and he answered slowly. "I'm...not sure our duty allows it. All of our military, and probably many of the regular citizens, would be drafted into their army and sent off to fight evil undead. All of those people are part of the Land, and them being sent to kill or be turned into monsters is not a fate we can permit."

I shrugged. "Ok, good enough. So, we need to figure a way out of this." Something pinged at the back of my head...if I were actually from this world I would have thought to myself "hm, I just missed a Spot check." Since I was a real person, I just felt a slight sense of wrongness before focusing completely on the problem at hand.

Silence fell.

"Oh, I know! We could—" I fell silent, pondering the thought. "Nope, nevermind. Won't work."

Silence kept falling on us.

Ryan raised a finger in thought. "We just need to..." he stopped thinking hard, then shook his head and put his finger down.

The silence was getting thick on the ground by now.

We stared at each other for a few more minutes, no one having a useful thought. After a bit, the door opened to admit Franklin leading a crew of maids and stewards, all laden with food. There was a pause while we all resettled, passed bread and cheese and meat-pies around, and chomped into things while trying (mostly unsuccessfully) to catch the crumbs in our napkins. The only conversation was along the lines of "pass the cider" or "yummm." (For the record, battle hardened killing machines should not say 'yum'. It wrecks their street cred.)

Eventually, feeling far more replete but no more clever, we turned back to the issue of the day. I still felt boundlessly brave and optimistic; I _knew_ we'd find a way to defeat the Deorsi and save the day...I just had no idea how.

"Ok, let's break this into smaller pieces. We need to find out how they do that resurrection trick and either steal it from them or sabotage it so we can actually put them in the ground. Same thing for their mass teleport trick. We also need to find out how much, if any, of what Albrecht said was true. Finally, we need to figure out how to bring them to battle at a specific time and place. Anyone got thoughts on how to accomplish any of those things?"

Silence fell when I asked the first question. Everyone pondered, no one had an answer.

Snickering started coming from the fireplace. "Hey, I just remembered!" Allison called. "I heard a poem about you today, Your High And Mightiness.

 _"There is a young man we call Jake  
He has a great plan he must make  
His brain it is said,  
Bounced in his head  
For his smarts you see are all fake."_

I snorted, amused. "Unkind, but possibly true, Allison. I gotta admit, guys, I don't see a solution here. If Albrecht was telling the truth then we can't possibly win this. And sure, maybe everything he was saying is a lie; we've only got his word for it. But he used a Wish to transport his people home; he's clearly a caster on the level of the Archmagi, and he's a general, not a full-time wizard. They undoubtedly have higher level mages than him. If you want miracles, you need someone smarter than me, because I've got nothing."

They all looked at me for a moment, frowning in puzzlement. ~ _ **Now**_ _what?~_ I thought. Those expressions always meant that something frustrating was about to be said.

"What do you mean 'he used a Wish'?" asked Thomas in confusion.

I gaped at him. "You're kidding, right? Wish is the single best known spell in the entire D&D game! Ninth level? Wizard spell? Five thousand Experience, you can do more or less whatever you want? Ringing any bells here?" I was simply incredulous. How could I be talking to paladins, sitting in the middle of a castle, with a fire elemental acting as a space heater, and they _didn't know what Wish was?_

They all looked at each other and shrugged, then turned back to me. I sighed; under normal circumstances I would have felt dejected but whatever Olivia had done (was doing?) was too awesomely full of awesome sauce, because I felt simply awesome—bouncy, bubbling, burbling, a bit babbly...

I reigned my thoughts in and took a quick flip through the Brainopedia to get the exact spell description.

 _Fzzt. Null pointer exception_ said the Brainopedia. (Well, not literally, but that's what it felt like.)

 _~Wait, seriously?! They said this thing had every spell they knew of, how could it not have Wish?~_ I checked again.

 _Fzzt. Null pointer exception_ said the Brainopedia.

I blinked, then looked around in shock. "Ohhhkaay, it's actually not in the download I got when y'all kidnapped me to this place. Take my word for it, it's a really, _really_ powerful spell. The Archmagi could cast it if they knew it which, in a circumstance that I find more surprising than hearing a Republican suggest funding welfare, they don't. But no one below their level could cast it. There's a whole list of things it can do; create or improve magic items, resurrect people, transport people, I don't remember whatall else but it's impressive stuff. It costs five thousand Experience but it's the be-all and end-all of wizard magic...for those wizards who know it, anyway. Which apparently includes our enemies, but not us. You know, just in case we weren't screwed hard enough already."

They shrugged acceptance, which aggravated the kimchee out of me. Seriously, in what weird-ass universe would someone tell you that your opponent had casually dropped a superspell in front of you...and then you just shrugged it off and went on with your day? Wouldn't a sensible person be asking questions about what it could do, how to stop it, _something?_ Argh.

Silence reigned for a little while longer before I finally shook my head. "Guys, I got nothing. Seriously, we need to get someone smarter than us in here, because we're not getting it done. Maybe the Archmagi?"

Franklin spoke up, sounding hesitant. "Commander, if our Lord needs to be smarter, what about giving him one of the Headbands?"

Thomas blinked, looking startled. "Of course! Why didn't I think of that? Archmage Matthew has been making them to sell; he should have some extras. Go get one from him, on the bounce." Franklin was on his feet and off like a shot, moving at that familiar insanely high speed.

I shook my head in confusion. "What's this headband you're talking about?"

Now he was excited. "A Headband of Intellect. It boosts the intelligence of the wearer. You said we needed someone smarter, well, you're about to be that someone."


	20. chapter 20

_**Author's Note**_ _: No D &D ownership here._

 _In other news: double length bonus chapter in honor of the New Year! Have a fantastic 2014 everyone._

* * *

I was taken aback. Putting on a sweatband was going to boost my braininess? I didn't even know how to react to that. What should I say in response, 'cool'? Or maybe 'why didn't you give me that sooner?' Assuming it actually worked; if such things existed, why weren't they as common as dirt? Was there anyone who _wouldn't_ benefit from getting extra brains jammed into their noggin?

Silence fell as we all withdrew into our thoughts. I spent the time just trying to get organized, mentally speaking. Finally, Franklin returned with a spiral-shaped jade earring in hand. Wordlessly, he passed it to Thomas and took his original seat.

"That doesn't look like a headband to me," I pointed out dubiously.

Ryan, one of the Guardsmen who hadn't spoken yet, chimed in. "Headband is just the default form, M'Lord. There's lots of variations; hairclips, bobby pins, hair spikes, chokers, phylacteries. Basically anything that can be worn on or near the head."

I shrugged. "Small problem; I don't have pierced ears."

Thomas went from his chair to standing beside me before I could blink. I was just starting to turn to ask him what he was doing when he grabbed me by the ear and stabbed the sharpened tip of the earring through my lobe.

"Ow, what do you think you're—" I cut off as a sudden hammerblow to my brain shut me down, my mind cutting off all I/O ports in order to focus its full effort on surviving what was happening inside my skull. In the span of a second I felt my awareness expand, unfolding like the blooming of a complex origami rose. My memories

smashed

into me

like a

tidal

wave

 _...goodbye keep waving until we're out of sight what a wonderful Christmas I love that house it's so warm and cozy and beautful and everything is so tasteful..._

 _...full of the taste of Thanksgiving: creamed spinach and pearled onions and squash and cranberry sauce with the ridges they have the fresh stuff but I like the ridges and the turkey is a bit too dry and oh no I'm stuck next to Uncle Joe god he's boring oh well I'll manage..._

 _...a team of programmers my job to shield them from management so they can actually get work done and things are great with Bill but not so much with Anita even though she's got skills she's prickly and I try to smooth things over..._

 _...head compartments by me are full darnit I'll have to put my bag four seats back and that means waiting forever to get off the plane oh well whinging about it isn't helpful..._

 _...to everyone, that's just who she is, all the time Nellie is always helping someone but this isn't her dream job her dream job was to be a counselor although she's amazing where she works it's her dream but she doesn't want to do a Ph.D. and I can't blame her..._

 _...for any of it because I took her for granted and it's my own stupid fault..._

 _...lines in California are everywhere more of them than you can shake a stick at and it's kinda crazy living here and it's true it's like a bowl of granola lots of nuts and flakes..._

I couldn't stop the wave, it was too powerful. Instead I slid up the face, got on top of it, and surfed on the crest. All I could do was keep my head out of the flood so I didn't drown under the pressure.

Slowly, ever so slowly, I got it under control. I reduced the tidal wave to a heavy surf, to a low wave, to a ripple, and finally made the surface calm. I spent some unknown timeless time storing the memories away, filing them in their proper place. Everything slotted into my mind like elegant sculptures on the pedestals of a giant gallery; I took care to note exactly where each one was so I could find it again when I wanted it.

A few moments later I took a deep breath, let it out in a whoosh, and opened my eyes. "Well that's...different." It was incredible understatement. This was the most amazing thing I'd ever experienced. Have you ever been completely exhausted and ravenously hungry at the same time, so drained that your brain seems to be drowning in sludge and you can hardly form a coherent thought? This was exactly unlike that. My thoughts were blinking back and forth at the speed of light, sliding across my mind like speed skaters on a straightaway.

Tears were running down my face from the beauty of it. I've always been a smart guy, and I defined myself by my mind. To me, this boost was like a professional weightlifter suddenly being able to benchpress a bus. I spent an entire minute just standing there, exploring my own mental processes.

Here were my memories, perfectly laid out, accessible, and crossindexed for the first time in my life. With just a thought I could relive the experience of appearing in the Work Room, talking with Albrecht, eating cheese and fruit in the sitting room, meeting Allison, meeting the Conclave, my various sessions with Duncan...every moment clear, sharp. Here were my cognitive functions, sharp and facile; I spent a few moments determining that the prime factors of 10,791 were 3, 3, 11, and 109. It was amazing.

Finally I got it under control and turned to my benefactor. "Thank you, Franklin. This is the best thing that's ever happened to me." I got up and paced into the bathroom to look in the mirror. After a moment I returned, a goofy grin plastered across my face. "Plus, I look totally badass with this ring in my ear." Franklin smiled back, ducking his head slightly in embarrassment.

A shiny thought occurred to me, and my face lit up. "Hey, can I get another—" Halfway through the obvious question my newly-enhanced mind flipped the Brainopedia open to the relevant page and slapped a pointer down on the key rule: Thou shalt not stack bonuses of the same type. Fooey. No four-rings-per-ear for me, I guess.

"Did it help? Do you see a solution?" Thomas was trying to be his normal self, calm and stoic, but I could hear the concern underlying it.

"Give me a minute, I need to think." I closed my eyes again and started spinning the situation around in my brand new Brain 2.0 thingy. Brain 2: The Quickening (no, wait, that was a terrible movie). The Eternal Sunshine of the Superfast Mind. (No, strike that. Losing memories is with the bad, as I ought to know.) Brain Wars: A New Hope. (Ooh, I liked that one! Let's go with that. Or maybe just the abbreviation, BW:ANH. No, that was awful, it would be pronounced bwan...hm, actually that sounded like ObiWan, so maybe it wasn't so bad. Yep, Bwan it was.)

With an effort I yanked my skittering thoughts out of their tangent-tangle and back onto the subject. Movie reference wordplay: good. Saving millions of lives, including my own: better.

 _~Point one: we are totally outgunned, outnumbered, and apparently the enemy can resurrect their troops stupid fast. As long as they can bring them back that quickly it doesn't matter how many we kill.~_

I marked that thought-node and threw out threads to nearby gridpoints in thoughtspace: how were they doing it? How _fast_ could they do it—was the stated rate of five thousand in two days sustainable? Was it even real? I left all those nodes stubbed in and went back to the main strand of the thoughtweb I was building.

The key point was the resurrections. Take that out of play and we could find a way to win the war. With the enemy being resurrected faster than Congress voting themselves a pay raise, it didn't really matter what we did. How were they doing it? Magic item? Massive number of casters? Divine favor?

 _~Unlikely to be casters; the sheer number of high level spellcasters required to do what Albrecht claimed is totally impractical.~_

 _~Hm. Reverse, revise. Number of casters not impractical, if Albrecht truthful throughout. (Guesstimate of prior probability...55%. Need evidence to adjust that. Critical importance.) Albrecht is a general, not a frontline battlewizard, so he is likely lower level than most frontliners. Despite that, he used a Wish to transport himself and all of his team. In order to do that, he must have been at least 17th level. If he was telling the truth about being four hundred years old (prior: 98% if resurrection ability is real, 1% otherwise), then he's had plenty of time to get levels in basically everything.~_

The keystone of everything was the truth of his statements about Anundjå. If they really had a billion people ( _~economically and agriculturally trivial under doofus monetary system, challenging on political front...prior: 99% given four hundred year age, 5% otherwise~_ ), and they really were in a constant state of war, then they would generate lots of Experience Points for all frontline soldiers. That meant lots of high level citizens, many of them casters (since casters were more effective at battlefield control and straight blasting than sword-slingers), which made the effective immortality and mass resurrection much more practical.

 _~For non-frontliners, they could capture and farm undead for XP. Captures would be especially easy if the numbers of undead are as high as stated. Prior on undead being that common: six nines, given exponential increase abilities. (Hm. Technically not exponential; movement rate and prey density would restrict it to polynomial growth.)~_ I had a feeling I would want to revist that thoughtnode in the future, so I mentally tagged it for easy reference. I envisioned an actual manilla tag, tied to the node with red string, with words written on the tag in big black marker: 'mathematical analysis of bio-consumptive endeavors of life-challenged individuals.' After a moment's thought I decided that was too long, so I crossed it out and wrote 'Fred.' Simpler, easier to remember. Much better.

Assume that a billion was accurate for their population. What was the Fermi estimate for their number of high level casters?

 _~Thirty percent under arms is three hundred million. Perhaps two hundred million are actual combat soldiers. (Assumption: magic and broken economics provide a tooth-to-tail ratio of 2:1, about the same as 21st century American military; enormously better than any medieval army.) Casters, especially arcane casters, are major force multipliers so they likely represent a significant fraction of the armed forces...perhaps 60%? That makes one hundred twenty million casters total. XP is easily acquired in battle, but attrition also happens, so casters will skew to midlevel...wait, with mass resurrection, is there attrition? Yes, because attrition will mean transformation into undead, and resurrection won't recover the person until that particular undead is captured or destroyed.~_

Ok, with my assumptions set, what was my final Fermi calculation? _~Maybe about 10% levels 1-5, 50% levels 6-12, 30% levels 13-16, 10% levels 17+? Call it twelve million high level casters; assume 70% are arcane casters as there tend to be more generally brainy people than people with religious calling. Final estimate: 8.4 million Archmage-level arcane casters and 3.6 million divine casters capable of True Resurrection. Difficulty of casting five thousand True Resurrections in a day, essentially nil.~_

I took a full twenty seconds to ponder the appropriate word to describe our chances given that we were facing eight and a half million enemy Archmagi—or, in other terms, roughly one Archmage for every three Flobovians. What was the proper word...doomed? A bit too formal and ponderous to be really satisfactory for inclusion in a curse-filled rant. Also lacking in flow with that leading 'd' stop. Screwed? A tad vulgar, and the sibilant could be difficult to manage in an all-up, red-faced, rabid expostulation. Hosed? Ah, there we go! A nice touch of informality, profanity-ly satisfying but not vulgar, and the 'h' sound flowed smoothly with preceding words.

Yes, perfect: we were hosed. Utterly and totally hosed. The canonical example of hosed. Next to the word 'hosed' in the dictionary was a definition saying 'hosed: see Flobovia'. Hosed beyond all previously conceivable levels of hosedness. Yep, definitely hosed.

I spent a long moment admiring the literary structure of my hosedness peroration, then shook it off. Enough whinging, back to problem solving.

 _~It's not necessarily true, though. Albrecht could have been lying about everything; this might be the extent of what the Deorsi can field against us. And if their resurrections are happening at all, it could be that they're done with an item, not millions of casters. Anyway, assume we can find a way to kill them permanently. Even so, we're still outnumbered five to one until we can mobilize the commoners and equip them with cannon. Also, the Deorsi can teleport their entire army right into our cities. If we could bring them to battle when and where we want, could we actually win that fight? We're outmatched physically and magically, so we'd need something clever. Something that uses magic to work physics in a weird way, like with the orbital strikes. Something that can be deployed easily and quickly, and affects a large area...oh. Yeah. That'll do nicely.~_

My eyes popped open and I looked around the room. "Two things: first off, I know part of the answer on how to win battles with the Deorsi, assuming that we can fight them somewhere outside our cities. Second and more importantly, the Archmagi did not include magic items in my Brainopedia, because I wasn't aware of the Headbands. The next time I see them, remind me to smack them upside the head for that. Seriously, shouldn't that be like #1 on the Evil Interdimensional Kidnappers List? Suze, when we're done here, get me a rundown on all known magic items ASAP, ok?"

She nodded mutely, her eyes big with that nervous look I had seen before.

That thought dealt with, I drew myself up dramatically. "Gentlemen and ladies," I pronounced firmly, beginning the rousing speech I had mentally prepared four seconds previously. I paused for effect, pivoting slowly to survey my audience. Finding them all properly rapt, I nodded with overblown drama; I was ready to elucidate my cogitations with great exactitude, and was gratified at their attentiveness. _~I really need to lay off the nine dollar words,~_ I muttered mentally to myself, also admiring the alliteration.

I shook my head, trying to snap out of the self-analyzing metaloop I was whizzing around in. _~No, seriously, cut it out, Jake,~_ I told myself firmly. _~I mean yes, more brains, calloo callay, but now you're just showing off. And showing off to yourself at that, which is serious "Welcome to Loserville, population: you" territory.~_

Despite the self-castigation I couldn't bring myself to stop (case in point: 'castigation'? Really? Hadn't Mr Strunk, my seventh grade English teacher, pounded the rule of "never use a long word where a diminutive one will fit" into me?) I snickered to myself. This brain enhancement totally rocked, but it did seem to get away from me occasionally.

Ryan coughed delicately and I snapped out of my mental ramble. "Right, where was I?...Ah, right. If we can get the Deorsi to come to us away from our cities, we can lay a serious smackdown on them. I mean, a smiting of truly biblical proportions. Om nom nom, eat them up and spit them out."

Uncertain smiles went around the room, including a rather timorous one from Suze.

"Ok, in seriousness. The basic situation hasn't changed. They still outpower us and outnumber us, but now, apparently, if you kill them they bounce back up faster than weebles. The cannon are a great force multiplier, and I have an idea for something else that's even better, but we need a way to actually bring them to battle when and where we want. More importantly, we need to find out how they're doing all those resurrections. We have to find the best thief—"

"Rogue, M'Lord," Thomas cut in.

The interruption broke my momentum and I stumbled a bit before I could shift tracks. "What?"

"They're called rogues, M'Lord, not thieves," declared Thomas.

"Lord God, even Bobville has political correctness. In _my_ day, they were called thieves. And we didn't have all this wacky feat and rank-based skills and sensible combat nonsense. We had non-weapon proficiencies and THAC0 and we liked it! Now get off my lawn!" I groused. Rolling my eyes, I continued. "Anyway, fine, whatever. Rogues, then. As I was saying, we need to find the best _rogue_ that we can and have him scout the Deorsi encampment and steal whatever it is they're using for all this spellcasting. Thomas, after we're done here find out who the best thie– _rogue_ is among the specials and dispatch him for that."

Thomas frowned. "The High Marshal was quite clear that if we scout them or take any other military actions towards them during the time of the truce then he'll attack full force immediately. Is it wise to throw away the time advantage?"

I threw that thought into my newly-enhanced brain, spinning it around. _~Not thinking of that was a major error. Why did it happen, and how do I stop it happening again? Was it a failure in memory, or a failure in analysis?~_ Experimentally, I reached for some of my farther-back memories for details from years ago. I needed something highly precise, like the taste of the cheese that Suze had served me for supper on my first day...now that I thought about it, yes, I could relive that cheese in all its delicious glory. Just like I could remember the exact stippling on the cannon we hid behind at the test shoot, from where fragments of the failed cannon had slammed into it. The memories were there, the problem was that I had to decide what to retrieve; despite the enhancement, my mind didn't automatically surface every possibly relevant item.

In a way, that was reassuring; a failure in analysis, which this clearly had been, was fixable. All I had to do was be more meticulous. Had it been a problem with basic memory, there would have been no fixing that.

"Good point, Thomas. Thanks for reminding me. Ok, prep the infiltration mission but don't actually launch it. Next item: can we believe what they told us. Thoughts, anyone?" I looked around expectantly.

Silence reigned for a moment. Finally James spoke, clearly thinking out loud as he did. It was positively eerie how much he and Ryan were alike; they even used the same open-handed gesture when they talked through an idea. "The High Marshal handled that conversation...deftly. He greeted all of you by name, including surnames. He knew everyone's profession. And everything he said was calculated to demonstrate their strength and abilities."

We were all nodding, thoughtfully. Then Mark took the ball from his brother. "Like how he inquired about your age, M'Lord—"

I growled in minor irritation. "Call me Jake, all of you. This M'Lord crap gets old."

Around the circle, there were uncomfortable nods. After a moment, Ryan continued. "Remember how he steered the conversation to your age? What if that was just a way of introducing his own age, and the fact that they have readily available rejuvenation and personal transformation magic, M'Lord?"

I flicked him a grumpy look and he hurried to correct himself. "Er, Jake. Sorry M'L—sorry, Jake." The poor guy looked about as uncomfortable as a human could look and not actually melt into a puddle of embarrassment goo.

I took a moment to grouse to myself. _~These people stood in the bathroom with me while I pooped. How do you keep being all formal with someone after watching them poop?~_ Setting the thought aside, I considered what Ryan was saying. It made a worrisome amount of sense.

"Yeah. So the whole visit was a psyop; do you think the offer itself was valid?"

They looked at me with that "huh?" look that I was already tired of. "Psychological Operation—it was more about the subtext than the actual words. The main purpose was to intimidate us, more than to actually demand our surrender. But the real question is, was he being honest about what Anundjå is like, and the existence of the undead threat?"

Ethan, a tall, whippet-thin man, spoke up. I didn't have much of a read on him so far; he had barely spoken around me before. "Odd thing; they have a billion people, they have endless legions...yet they send only a hundred thousand to conquer a country the size of Flobovia? We've got twenty eight million citizens; do they really think they can maintain martial law over so many with so few? If they have the men, why not send more? Or, if they can't spare the men from the battle lines, then why are they here at all?"

It was a damn good question, and we all sat in silence for a good two minutes pondering it. After a time, Suze murmured "Maybe they want something besides land?"

All eyes turned to her and she shrank into her seat as though she hoped the earth would swallow her up. "What was that, Suze?" I asked as gently as I could, taking pains to look encouraging.

She cleared her throat and tried again, a bit louder. "I was just thinking that maybe they want something other than land? They're sending patrols across the entire country while the main body goes from one city to the next? Maybe they're searching for something?"

I blinked in shock. "They're sending patrols all over? How do you know that? I didn't know that."

She hunched even further, ducking her head into her shoulders like a turtle, her hands clasped in her lap. "I'm sorry, M'Lord. I just wanted to help. I spoke to the Sultan's Scry Corps, asked them for the latest reports."

The 'Guard were all smiling widely at her, plainly trying to be encouraging, but it didn't seem to be helping. On consideration, I suppose having the towering human cuisinarts smile widely at me wouldn't necessarily be all that comforting either. I hurried to reassure her. "No, no. It's fantastic—thank you! That could be really important, and I didn't even know to ask for it. I have a feeling it's going to make a big difference in our planning. You did good, kiddo." I kept laying the reassurance on thick, trying to get her to calm down and relax.

"Oy, Suze! Buck up!" hollered Allison from the fireplace. I had to suppress a start; once again, I had forgotten she was there. "Straighten up and stop whispering! These guys ain't so tough."

"Of course we are," said Ryan teasingly. "We're the toughest sons of bitches in the world. Fortunately, Suze, we're _your_ sons of bitches. Yours and Flobovia's; these mooks mess with our Land, we are going to grind their bones into paste and make tasty sausages from their entrails. Tasty sausages which we will serve with parsley and a nice white wine sauce. Because everything is yummier with white wine sauce."

She smiled a bit and her posture straightened just a smidge. I made a note to ask Thomas about what was up with her; her level of nervousness made no sense to me.

James looked over at his brother with one eyebrow cocked. "Entrail sausages with white wine sauce? Bro, we seriously need to work on your concept of good cuisine."

Ryan affected a hurt expression. "What? White wine is delicious."

"It's not the wine, it's the meat. Everyone knows you don't serve white wine with red meat."

"Hey, I refuse to be stifled by the plebian tastes of the gustatory unwashed. My art must be free!"

James was opening his mouth to retort when Thomas gave a small, deliberate _ahem_. Immediately there was silence and all eyes were on him. "If we could perhaps table the culinary review for a moment? We might want to focus on the issue of stopping the entire country from being enslaved." Had the tone been any drier, you could have used it as a dehumidifier.

Before continuing, he looked around the circle, staring us all down and making sure we were focused. "Suze is right, their movement patterns only make sense if they're searching for something, not just trying to conquer us. Another thing that doesn't ring true—why were they so willing to give us a truce for a week? With their teleportation ability, why aren't they attacking immediately in order to prevent another orbital strike? They clearly understand the importance of speed, and even after the deaths they still have enough men."

"Maybe they know that we can't do another one?" offered Ryan. "We don't have any more of the Wrights; didn't you say we couldn't do the strikes without them, M—Jake?"

I nodded absently, pondering the question. There were no good answers...or, rather, none of the answers were good.

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	21. chapter 21

_**Author's Note**_ _: The game that is D &D lacks the attribute "owned by Eaglejarl."_

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After some long thought, I still had no idea why the Deorsi would be behaving the way they were, so I tabled the issue.

"Ok, I don't think we have enough information to figure out what they are searching for or why. Back to the original question: how do we bring their whole army to battle somewhere outside of our cities? It needs to be the entire army; we need to get all of them in one shot or they'll just start resurrecting everyone we kill. And it _really_ needs to be well away from the cities. I'm thinking of something that does a _lot_ of collateral damage; we definitely don't want to use it where there's anything breakable around. For instance, castles."

Every member of the Landguard got the same look on their face; half "oh gods, what now?" and half "eaten alive with curiosity." After a long moment, they set those feelings aside and addressed the question.

Silence reigned for a long moment, then Thomas spoke up. "Battlefield strategy isn't really our strong point, Jake. The Landguard haven't had to fight a full scale battle in centuries; all of our potential opponents are terrified of us. We do bodyguard work, border patrol, disaster relief, policing, and monster slaying." He paused, frowning slightly in thought, then continued. "That said, if this were a monster hunt the way to do it would be to either bait the creature to the killing ground with something it wanted, or drive it there with something it feared. For most monsters the obvious answers are food for the first, fire for the second. I'm not sure what the equivalents would be for the Deorsi, though. We don't have anything to make them run, so that's out. As to bait...we could put some or all of the army out there. But they wouldn't need to send their entire army for that; they could envelop and destroy it with only part of their forces. Whatever we bait them with, it would have to be something that they needed to bring their entire force to bear on...something either really dangerous, or something really large, like another army of about their size."

"Where they're camped now is fairly out of the way," Ethan pointed out, his tone clipped. "They are enveloping the town of Tor Hadrath, with their main body camped three or four miles away from what I can tell on the map. There aren't any other settlements for fifteen miles in any direction. We can't get troops there in any real numbers, but their main body is several miles away; it would be easy to attack them there. And if you need to have some people on the ground there, we could teleport a handful in."

I nodded, slowly. "How many people in Tor Hadrath?"

They all looked at each other to see if anyone else knew the answer. Finally Thomas answered. "Maybe fifty thousand? Something like that, anyway." He sounded unsure, which just painted worse and worse pictures of hundreds of thousands going down to die if I wiped out the Deorsi army.

I paled a little. "Is there any way we can evacuate them?"

Thomas looked at me with narrowed eyes. "Not reasonably, no. Like we said, the Deorsi have put in an envelopment, with the main body of their troops held back a few miles. The only reason they haven't captured the place yet is because of the truce that Albrecht gave us. The minute the timer runs out, they'll teleport their people behind the walls and own the place within hours. Why?"

"Well, if we set off—" my brain threw up giant flashing red lights and AWOOGAH! sirens as I suddenly realized what the Landguard would say if I told them the plan. Smoothly, I redirected my sentence. "—to fight the Deorsi there, the town might suffer."

Now it wasn't just Thomas giving me the hairy eyeball, it was the entire group. All except for Franklin who kept looking back and forth between me and Thomas, clearly unsure about where his loyalties should lie.

Fortunately, Allison's voice snarked out of the fireplace and distracted us all before Thomas and friends could start ripping apart my pitiful prevarication. "Useless, the pack of you. Utterly pathetic. Big bad soldier boys, can't even figure out how to get attacked right."

All eyes turned to her. "Ahem. Soldier _boys_?" asked Olivia, the only female Landguard to survive the Deorsi teleportation attack. She had just a trace of an accent that stretched the 'o's out and put the emphasis on odd silly bobbles; I kept trying to figure out what it reminded me of, and it was driving me crazy that I couldn't.

"Heh. Fine, point for you. Boys and girls, you're still all useless."

I grinned, sensing that she had something for us to demonstrate just how useless we all were and how brilliant she was. "And you are not useless, O self-styled Brightly Shining Mistress of the Annoying?"

"Well, duh."

I waited a beat, knowing she was going to make me ask but hoping not to have to. Finally I gave up with a sigh. "And what might that be, O Annoying One? Congratulations on living up to your title, by the way."

She laughed. "Find whatever they're looking for, use that as bait. Duh." The fireplace echoed with the sound of a loud Bronx cheer.

Seriously, how the heck did she do that with no tongue and no lips?

"Ah, of course," I shot back, my tone as dry as dust. "Why didn't I think of that? All we have to do is deduce the unknown goal of their search, which they might not actually be conducting, from essentially no evidence and with no real understanding of their motivations. Ridiculously simple, I bow to your superior wisdom for coming up with it."

"Actually, it's a pretty good idea," said the motley-clad man in the seat next to me. I yelped and jumped up, turning to face him. None of the Landguard moved. In fact, a quick glance showed that they were utterly still, trapped in a freeze frame moment. Allison was equally motionless, with a shower of sparks stuck in mid-pop. I paled and backed away towards the door.

"Oh, do calm down and have a seat. I'm hardly about to attack you," said the woman sitting in the chair where the man had just been.

I stayed where I was, still poised to take off. I wasn't actually _afraid_ of who- or whatever this was, but a significant degree of caution seemed called for around anything that could suddenly appear in the middle of my magically shielded bedroom in the middle of my heavily defended castle while putting my highly lethal bodyguard into a literal time out. Yeah, not so much with the reassuring.

With no perceptible change the thing in the chair looked like a five foot tall anthropomorphic otter in Robin Hood tights, jerkin, and feathered hat. "Would you _please_ sit down, for the love of licorice?!" the thing grumped at me.

Slowly I took my seat; it didn't seem likely that it was going to attack and, if it did, it seemed less likely that I could escape. "And you are...?" I asked warily.

The two foot duck hopped up and bowed elegantly, one wing crossed over its red sash. "Jogan the Jocular, at your service!" The giant fern swayed for a moment, one frond tapping on what would have been a chin in a person. "Well, not actually at your service. More like offering a deal for services. And collecting on a deal. And not always Jogan either. Hm. Maybe Wilgam the Wily? Ooh, or Karash the Kindly? I always loved that name. Those people had a great sense of humor. Oh, wait, I know! How about Loki?" A man-shaped bonfire blazed in the chair, but the chair was not affected. "I think that's my name—well, one of them—back where you're from. Or maybe you know me as Coyote?" Suddenly the chair held a tall, muscular man with red-brown skin and the head of a canid. "Sorry, it's been a while since I was in your neighborhood; I don't remember which of my names were best known."

I was sitting next to a god.

No, seriously. I Was Sitting. Next To. A. God. An actual, real life god, straight out of myths and legends. Could my life get any weirder?

And, of course, just to add to the fun, it was a well-known-for-being-unreliable, bargain-twisting, rules-lawyering trickster god with a penchant for playing mean tricks. Oh yeah, this was gonna go great.

"Hey, I resemble that remark!" scolded the miniature turtle crawling across the seat of the chair. It pushed itself up on its back legs, shaking its forelimbs at me and tsk-tsking.

"You read minds too. Joy. This just keeps getting better. Ok, what can I do for you?" I grumbled.

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	22. chapter 22

_**Author's Note**_ _: Among my assets there is a D &D-shaped hole._

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"A-a-a-a-sk not what you can do for Loki!" bleated the giant goat. "Ask what Jogan can do for you! For a price, of course. Yessiree, step right up and try your luck, make a bargain, win a prize," chanted the carnival barker, his voice positively oily.

"Could you cut out the transformations?" I snapped. "They're irritating as hell."

"Oh, fine," blooped the fetid mess of oil, swamp moss, and bracken piled in the chair. "No more transformations unless I feel like it, cross my heart and hope to cry."

My nose wrinkled involuntarily; the thing smelled like rotting fish and fossil fuel pollution. "Now you're just being petty. Pick a form that isn't revolting, something human that I can actually talk to. And stick with it."

Some small corner of my mind muttered _~I'm not terrified. How odd.~_

Harlequin sighed and adjusted his mask, ensuring that it was properly balanced on his beak of a nose. "Hey Zeus Cries Tea, you're fussy," he grumbled, but his form held stable while he shook his head, looking at the floor in disgruntlement. After a moment his eyes flicked up to look at me, an impish grin stretching his lips. "Did I get it right? It's been a few hundred years since I was in your world, and I forget some of the details. Hey Zeus Cries Tea—that's how people from your world swear, right?"

I was taken aback; I thought hard for a minute before I realized what he meant. "No, it's—" I pulled myself up short. It occurred to me that it might be a good idea to have something to trade with the Trickster, even if it was as small as the proper curse words of my world.

"Heh heh, now you're getting it!" Harlequin cackled. "Keep your cards close to your vest"—for just a moment, the torso of his costume turned into a lime green wool sweater vest with a royal flush in hearts embroidered across it. It was only there for a blink before it morphed back to the familiar multicolored diamonds—"and maybe this won't be completely boring."

My mouth ran away before my brain could engage. "Of course it will," I shot back. "You already showed you can read my mind. So whatever information I might think of to trade with you, you'll know it immediately. Sucks to be you; it's going to make this conversation very dull indeed—for you, anyway. It's a shame I don't have mental privacy...if I did perhaps you could actually have some fun but, as it is, this will just be one more dull day in your Long. Dull. Boring. Endless. Eternal. Life. Such a shame."

Harlequin doubled over, clutching his belly and shaking with laughter. "Oooh, not bad! Heavy handed, too obvious, but not bad. Ok, tell you what: I won't read your mind for a while. Let's see if you can keep my interest."

For just a moment I thought about saying "How do I know you won't read my mind?" But obviously, the answer would be "you don't" and I wasn't about to give the clown the satisfaction.

"So, back to the original question," I offered. "Why exactly are you here?"

"Oh, but that warn't the original question, now were it, me boyo?" For no apparent reason, Trickster suddenly had a super heavy, almost campy, Irish accent. "Nah laddy, wut ye was sayin' was regardin' wut _ye_ could do fer _me_. That be far more int'rstin'." Suddenly the Irish had wandered across the water to Scotland, and gotten even more exaggeratedly ridiculous—especially given that it was still coming from the mouth of a Renaissance-era Italian clown. Oy.

Despite the ridiculous appearance and vocal changes, Trickster was no one to mess with. Like it or not, he was quite literally a god and gods have this whole "smiting" thing they do whenever someone gets on their nerves. I was rapidly finding that talking to one was a lot like living next door to a well-armed meth head; you didn't know exactly what would happen, but you probably weren't going to like it. And yet, for some reason, I still wasn't frightened.

Frightened or not, I definitely wasn't calm. I fought hard to keep my voice calm and disinterested. I couldn't afford to show weakness or, even worse, interest. I forced myself to picture Sergeant Duncan sitting opposite me, and framed my physical and verbal responses as I had when I stalled him before having the 'Guard dungpile him. "Yes well, I guess I misspoke, because I actually have no interest whatsoever in doing anything for you. Unless, of course, you have something to offer...?"

A delighted grin spread across the beaky face. A monocle appeared over his right eye, a black top hat on his head, and a walrus mustache under his nose. It looked decidedly odd with the Harlequin mask.

"Ah, but, that's the heart of the whole matter, don't you see? I fear you find yourself in debt to me, and I'm here to collect." Despite the mustache, the generally masculine face and build, the top hat, and basically every other visual characteristic, the thing across from me had the voice of Dame Judi Dench. I almost expected it to say "Now see here, 007..."

I frowned. "What?"

Three blackboards appeared behind Trickster's chair. He (it?) produced a four foot metal pointer from a pocket the size of a postage stamp and tapped the blackboards in turn. "You." "Owe." "Me." As it spoke, the words drew themselves on the boards in fuschia chalk and the boards lit up with blinking neon edging.

Now I was really taken aback. "What are you talking about? I don't owe you anything."

"Au contraree, mes ami! Tienes muchos con el owing!" A beret and a sombrero flickered briefly in and out of existence, only to leave the god's head bare at the end.

"Ok, that just didn't make any sense. That wasn't French _or_ Spanish. Whatever you want, whatever you think I owe you, just spit it out."

Harlequin reared back, making a noise like someone gathering the biggest loogie in the world. "Pittooie!" he cried, snapping his whole body forward as though violently sneezing. A set of wooden false teeth went flying from his mouth, bouncing across the floor to stop at my feet. The teeth chattered up at me in a fine imitation of a TV courtroom lawyer. "I submit to the court that the defendant is encumbered with the debt of prior services rendered, to wit: suspension of physical laws for purpose of reputational preservation in re weapon launcher program code named 'Cannon' and ergo said defendant's assets, material or servicial, may be summarily attached in payment of said debt. An it please the Court, the prosecution rests."

Now I was just lost. "What? Suspension of physical laws about the cannon? What about them? They worked fine. And there is no such word as 'servicial'."

Just for a moment, there was a hookah-smoking caterpillar opposite me. "Of course there is such a word! How could I be using a word that didn't exist? Really, you need to try to keep up." The clown was back, slouched in the chair outstretched legs crossed at the ankle and hands clasped on his belly while giving me a beady-eyed stare. "But, back to the subject at hand...you say they 'worked fine'? Boom, the boy gets it! Yes indeedy, they worked _just great_ , now didn't they? And that would, of course, be due to what was, if I may say it, a flawless demonstration of the skills and powers of a brilliant, handsome, highly talented expert, who shall remain nameless but happens to be me, who caused, at the precisely correct time and in precisely the correct manner, the suspension of the relevant physical laws for purposes of furthering the cause of preserving your reputational status viz a viz the Landguard, by ensuring that the demonstration in question maintained verismilitude and simultaenously satisficed the Landguard's needs regarding, but not limited to, the war capacity of the aforementioned cannon."

I raised my hand. "Objection, your honor. That sentence should be taken out back and shot."

The black-robed judge in the powdered wig pounded his gavel, crying "Objection overruled!" Loki frowned and stared at me from under his oversized 'scary librarian' glasses. "See here, young man. There is only one god of trickery and humor in this room, and that's me. If there are wisecracks to be cracked here, I'll do the cracking, thankyouverymuch. Now, I made it so your cannon worked, so pay up."

By this point I was simply bewildered. "What do you mean you made them work? They aren't magic, they run on basic physics. See, the generators produce electricity which—"

"—electrolyzes water into gaseous hydrogen and oxygen. The gases are then detonated by current arcing from the ignition wire causing an explosion which is channeled up the barrel, pushing the ammunition and wadding ahead of it and towards the enemy at high velocity. Yes, yes, I know, I know. But there are so many failure modes for the cannon it's not even funny. The leaks, for one; you really think that just by cracking the water faster you could stay ahead of them? Water is 18.01528 grams to the mole; given the amount of water you used and the internal volume of the cannon you would have had over five thousand atmospheres of pressure, assuming complete electrolysis and no leakage. That would have leaked and / or pushed the wadding and ammo out long before enough pressure built up for a truly successful cannon shot.

"Of course, that's not even your basic problem. How about simple thermodynamics? The amount of work you saw produced by the H&O detonation was vastly in excess of the amount of work spent cranking the generator. If that were actually feasible, you could use some of the excess work to crank the generator and voila, perpetual motion machine. Which is easy to do when a god conveniently lends you a bit of magic but a bit less straightforward when you're trying to persuade the universe to do the work for you, hmmmm?"

My stomach froze. "Oh. Um." I honestly wasn't sure which bothered me more: the existence and presence of a god, my failure to account for fundamental physics (ooh, nice alliteration!), or the fact that a Being wearing the shape of a clown was talking like a chemistry professor.

"Yes, indeed. 'Um.' The reason they worked is because I decided to do you a solid, and it's going to be a gas watching you figure out how to scare up the liquid assets to pay for it."

I just stared in disbelief. "Really? Phases of matter puns?"

He looked abashed. "Too much?"

"Little bit, yeah."

He made the sad face, and I enjoyed a long moment of schadenfreude, telling myself _~Don't say it, don't say it, keep your mouth shut~_...but I finally couldn't hold back any more. "Besides, what liquid assets do I have? You can't get blood plasma from a stone, right?"

His head came up and he eyed me narrowly for a moment. "Are you condensating to me?"

I shot back with both barrels. "Mocking and condensating Bose, Einstein. Because I am on _fire_ tonight. Water we do next, unearth some other punny topics? Air there any subjects in particular you want to throw down on?"

The room went dark except for a strip around his eyes, narrowed like a gunfighter studying his opponent. The Sergio Valente musical sting rang in the background. "I make a couple of element puns and you start Greeking out on me? Trust me, you don't want to punfight me, boy; I put zephyr of gods into the last guy who tried. Juno how many divinity puns there are, and how long I've had to learn them? I know 'em all, and that's the Zeus. "

"Troy to keep up, old man. Odd Izzy and the other Archmagi pull me into this world and make me play general. Aeneid five times the soldiers I have, just to match the enemy. Achilles Deorsi troops all day long, and no matter how many I kill they just resurrect them. The whole situation sucks, so cannon I get a break here, please? And by the way, that 'Zeus / truth' pun is a fail."

He shot me a dirty look before finally relenting. "Yeah, ok, fine, not my best."

I grinned insouciantly, licked my finger, and put an invisible tally mark in the air to show my victory. That little voice in the back of my head said _~Do not taunt Happy Fun Trickster God, for he is subtle and quick to zot.~_ I ignored it.

"Feh, fine," he groused, with an expression like he bit into a Sour Patch Kid. "You can have that round. But I'm not working the cannon for you any more. Next time you try to fire them, they're just going to sit there like useless lumps and you're going to have egg on your face." A chicken appeared above my head, clucked, and dumped an egg yolk in my hair before disappearing. I just stared at him, not giving him the satisfaction of a reaction, as the mess slid down my forehead and over my face. Just before it was going to drip onto my shirt I reached up and flicked the worst of it off, clearing my eyes on my sleeve.

I glared at him and my tone was scathing. "Really? Juvenile pranks? That's the best you've got? Aren't you the god of humor?"

He shrugged and grinned, not bothered in the slightest. "Hey, slapstick is a time-honored tradition in humor. Just ask the Stooges."

I frowed. "The who? Never mind, not important. Now that you've gotten the sophmoric pranks out of the way, what is it that you want in exchange for this so-called service you did for me?"

"Find what the Deorsi are looking for." Suddenly there was no humor whatsoever in those eyes; for a moment, I looked at the face opposite me and saw, not a clown in motley, but a God. A being with only the most nodding acquaintance to natural law, the power to change reality on a whim and, worse, a sense of malicious whimsy. My guts turned to Jello.

With some effort, I broke eye contact, looking down and considering my fingernails for ten or fifteen seconds while I got myself together again.

Finally, I was able to look up; I didn't make the mistake of making eye contact again; instead, I stared at his left ear. I cleared my throat to make sure that my voice wouldn't shake when I spoke. "We were going to do that anyway." It didn't come out sounding quite as unruffled as I'd been shooting for, but at least my voice didn't actually crack like a teenager's.

He nodded. "Good. Find it. Find it fast, before they do. And when you find it, destroy it."

I quirked at eyebrow. "What?"

"Destroy it. Split the ground, burn everything you see to ash, scatter the ashes in several different rivers so they get carried miles away and thoroughly dispersed."

I stared at him in disbelief. "You're kidding, right?"

The Lord of Madcap Mischief gave forth a disapproving sniff. "No. I am not kidding, not even slightly. I want it completely destroyed. Every stone from narthex to nave smashed to pebbles, the pebbles ground to sand and the sand dispersed across thousands of miles. Every fragment, every trace—pull it down, grind it up, scatter it to the ends of the earth so every fragment of its being is utterly erased."

"Well, that's not even slightly overdramatic. So, assuming I were willing to do this for you, where is it? For that matter, _what_ is it?" I leaned back, crossing my legs and struggling to keep the grin off my face. I didn't think Trickster realized just how much he was giving away, and I didn't want to tip him off.

"I can't tell you that." The answer was flat, definitive, no room for argument or discussion. Quite literally the Word of God.

Hmm. He said _can't_ tell. Not that he _wouldn't_ tell me, but as though something was preventing him. Eeeeenteresting.

"Ok well, as soon as we figure out where it is, we'll get right on the smashy thing. In the meantime, how about some information? The Deorsi—are they for real? How much of what Albrecht said was true?"

He laughed. "Oh, all of it was _true_. Albrecht is an honest man at heart...he wouldn't tell you a falsehood, any more than I would. I mean, sure, there's always a few quibbles; nothing important is ever so simple that you can lay it out completely in just a few sentences."

I snorted. "And I suppose those 'quibbles' aren't important at all, are they?" The irony dripping from my words could have filled a river.

He smirked back at me. Taking his own sweet time, he turned sideways in his armchair, draping his legs over one arm and leaning backwards over the other in a way that suggested he had never heard the word 'endoskeleton.' From his upside-down position he responded with studied casualness. "It might be that they are. Potentially. Could be. There's a chance. A possibility of unknown magnitude—well, unknown to you, anyway. Of course, if those quibbles _were_ important, that would be pretty valuable information, wouldn't it? What would you be prepared to trade for it?"

That stumped me. "What would you want?"

He stared at the ceiling, rubbing his chin like a ham actor portraying thought. "Hmmmmmmmm," he mused. "Hmm hmm hem hm hah. What _would_ I want? What would I _want_? What would _I_ want? Interesting question, very interesting."

Reaching back over his head, he placed his hands on the ground and walked his legs upright into a handstand. Not 'kicked his legs upright' like a human would do...he _walked_ them upright, like he was walking on stairs.

"How about you owe me a favor? Once I figure out what I want, I'll let you know and you can provide it then."

I didn't even pause at that one. "Yeah, not a chance. My mother always told me not to take open-ended deals from strange gods I just met."

He bounced idly from one hand to the other for a bit, then flipped back to his feet. "Ok, fine. I'll be generous; I'll give you the information for a song."

I snorted again. "Why do I have trouble believing that you would just give away valuable information?"

He laughed, a clear bell-like sound. "Nononono, you misunderstand. I mean I'll give it to you for _a song_. A literal song." He pulled a thick sheaf of sheet music out of his ear and held it out to me. "I wrote it myself!" He actually managed to sound bashful. He even went so far as to make little half-circles on the ground with his toe.

I took the music, feeling stunned, and looked it over. It was simple stuff; I wasn't much of a musician, but my grade school had had a music theory class so I could at least puzzle out the basics. It looked like it was written for strings, maybe a guitar; key signatures were basic, tempo was easy, notes were mostly naturals—in short, it was designed to be ridiculously easy to play, and I had a feeling it was going to work well as a drinking song. The words were tales of Loki's adventures; they were funny, and, unsurprisingly, painted him in a highly flattering light.

"You give that music to a thousand bards—I've got plenty of copies, no worries—and pay them each a gold piece to sing it in the taverns for a week. Do that, and I'll give you some juicy details on Albrecht and Deor."

I looked up, puzzled. "Deor?"

"The core nation of the Union. Anundjå was one of their rulers." He flashed a grin at me, impossibly white Kennedy teeth actually gleaming with reflected light from no visible source. "See how useful my information can be? You didn't even know where the name of their country came from; now you do. And that,"—the smile got wider, literally stretching from ear to ear—"is just a taste. Battle plans, exact population counts, number and school and level of casters, disaffected nobles who might be willing to work with interested foreigners...ooh, there's just no _end_ to the things I could tell you."

Something felt hinky about this, but I couldn't place it. What was Loki really after? I didn't believe this was just about songs...I would have understood if he wanted some sort of worship ceremony, or riches, or magic. But why was he willing to deal valuable information for a drinking song?

"I don't feel good about deals I don't understand, and I don't understand this one. What do you get out of this?" If I sounded suspicious, it was only because I was.

He reared back, his hand on his heart and an expression of shock on the part of his face I could see. "Get out of it? What do I get out of it? Why, I am an aspiring creative-type person, surely I can feel joy knowing that my work is being viewed and appreciated? Is it so much to ask?"

I hesitated another moment. This was definitely not right. There was something bad about this deal, and I didn't know what.

Loki leaned forward conspiratorially; his eyes darted from side to side as though looking for spies. "Besides," he stage-whispered. "What would the Landguard say if they found out that you turned down information that could have saved millions of members of the Land, simply because you didn't want a song to be played?"

Oh, that bastard. He had me. There was no way the Landguard would put up with that; if I declined this offer it was quite possibly that heads would literally roll. Well, one head, anyway. One that I was pretty attached to.

"Ok, so let's say I agreed. I'll have the bards sing your music and in return you give us a full briefing of everything you know that would be useful to us in our dealings with Albrecht, the Union of Anundjå, and anyone or anything that is _in our opinion_ connected to any of those things and relevant to the subject." I was casting about frantically, trying to think what loopholes I had missed. Oh. Right. The obvious one. "And all information you provide must be truthful, complete, and not misleading."

He flopped his head to the side and looked up at the ceiling in thought, lips pursed. "Mmmmmm, no. Tell you what. You get twenty questions. I'll answer them, and I promise I won't lie."

Oh yeah, this was gonna go great.

"Right, sounds good. I love this plan, I'm excited to be part of it. Let's do it," I offered with totally fake enthusiasm.

Fireworks shot out of his shoulders and popped in the air behind him, turning into little party streamers as they fell. "Yaaayyy!" he squealed, jumping in the air and clapping his hands gleefully. I sighed.

"Welp, here's the copies of the music," he offered, sounding about as annoyingly chipper as a junior high cheerleader. A quick wave of his hand and the far wall was suddenly lined with stacks of pages. "Once it's being played, I'll be happy to offer up some pearls of wisdom. And remember—no less than a thousand bards!" He shook a finger at me, momentarily transforming into an angry schoolteacher straight out of a '50s movie.

"And on that note," a kazoo briefly sounded, "I'm outta here. Ring me if you need anything, and all my best wishes to you. Hopefully they'll help your war effort." With a wink, he shifted into a man-sized soap bubble; it shimmered and undulated for a moment, then popped in a shower of soapy water that never reached the floor.


	23. chapter 23

_**Author's Note**_ _: D &D is owned by others. It is not owned by me. This is a source of great sadness._

* * *

"Allison, do you have—" Thomas cut off in the middle of a sentence, his whole body tensing up as his bodyguard sense tingled loudly. "Shifter!" he yelled, blurring forward and yanking me out of my chair. He slammed me down on the floor, pinning my arms to my chest with one knee. A fast palm strike to my solar plexus left me too busy trying to breathe to even consider fighting back.

Even before he had me on the ground, the other Landguard had taken up position around us, blades out, facing out. Franklin tapped his swords together as he took up position; a ringing sound swept across the room, shaking my bones as it flowed over me. As the sound passed, the Continual Flame torches on the walls went out and Allison vanished from the fireplace.

Thomas grabbed my jaw and forced my head to the side, first one way then the other, inspecting me minutely as he did. It felt like being clamped in a vice.

"Ow, Thomas, cut it out!" At least, that's what I tried to say. His grip on my mouth and jaw was strong enough that it came out more like "oo tomaf kfut id fout!"

A dagger appeared in his free hand, the point about a nanometer from my eyeball. _~My, Flobovian smiths make excellent steel, don't they? Is that wootz? It certainly has the water banding. Impressive. Also looks amazingly sharp. Yep. I would have thought that sharpening to a monomolecular edge would be undesirable—too easy to chip in real combat. Well, Thomas is the expert.~_

"After your summoning, what were Archmage Matthew's exact words when he invited you to leave the Work Room?" The tone made it quite clear that this was a one-question pass-or-die exam.

He had slacked his grip just enough that I could talk, so at least I wasn't mumbling. "Matthew never said a word while we were in the Work Room. It was Reynard, not Matthew. And he said 'perhaps you'd like to relocate to a more comfortable location for the rest of this conversation? The Work Room is excellent for rituals, but remarkably lacking in chairs.'"

The grim expression didn't change at all. "Before I pulled you out of the chair, were you under the effects of any enchantments? Did you feel at all odd?"

"No. Now would you please move that dagger somewhere else, it's freaking me the hell out." Something felt odd about that sentence, but I decided that the the current hey-look-my-bodyguard-is-about-to-kill-me-for-some-reason situation should be higher priority than figuring it out. I filed the thought away in my memory gallery, tying a tag on it so I could find it again for future consideration.

Thomas relaxed slightly, and sheathed his dagger. Standing up, he pulled me to my feet, sliding his hands down my body in a quick and professional frisk. I started to complain but he spun me around and checked my back as well, down my legs and back up. He even grabbed my crotch; presumably it was just to be sure that I didn't have anything in my jockeys that wasn't attached, but it still made me yelp. Finally, he slid his hands up through my hair to check for anything on my scalp.

I jerked away from him, angry and embarrassed. "What are you doing?! Cut it out!"

He nodded, stepping back and making a hand gesture to the others. They lowered their weapons and came down from red alert. Franklin tapped his blades together again; a different tone rang out, just as loud as the first but at a different pitch. In its wake the torches sprung back to life and Allison reappeared.

"What in the firey pits of burning hellcrap was that?! Ice on stone, what did you do that for, you overgrown, metal-wrapped haggis-brained meatbags? Do your teensy eensy little waterbag minds have the slightest idea how painful it is to be suppressed like that?!" Allison was in fine form; she went off on a truly impressive cursing streak. At least a minute later she was still in full spate and hadn't repeated herself once.

Finally I tore myself away from listening and focused on Thomas again. "She's got it right. I think you owe me dinner and a movie after that stop-and-grope; what in the hell was that all about?" I was very much not a happy camper. Dire thoughts about 'hop on one foot for the rest of the day' or 'go to the Plaza and sing the "I'm A Little Teapot" song' orders were flickering somewhere in the back of my brain.

"We were talking and then you flickered. You weren't in the same position in your chair, you had on a different expression. No transition, just one moment _here_ then the next moment _there_. That means magic; you could have been replaced, or something could have been planted on you to control you."

That...actually made a fair amount of sense. "And what was that ringing thing?"

Thomas smiled sardonically and shrugged. "We need to protect our ruler against mages. Easiest way to do that, shut down their magic. It keeps the situation stable, and it shuts off any magical disguises or shapechanges. There does tend to be some collateral damage though. Sorry about that, Allison."

Her response wasn't printable and it went on for quite a while.

The Landguard and I settled back into our chairs. As we seated ourselves, they sheathed their weapons and I rubbed my face, working my jaw where Thomas had gripped it. There were uncomfortable popping noises that made me file a mental note to visit the cleric later for some preventitive magical maintenance, just in case I had stress fractures.

"So, if you weren't controlled or replaced, what was that flicker?" Thomas may have accepted that I was me and not controlled, but he still wasn't happy with the situation.

"That," I stated grimly, "was Jogan the Jocular, Wilgam the Wily, or Karash the Kindly—whatever his local name is. Personally, my people know him as Coyote, Loki, and probably a bunch of other names."

They all just stared at me in shock. Thomas put his head in his hands, rocking it back and forth in exhausted frustration. There were a lot of groans from the others.

Finally Thomas sat up with a sigh. "What did he want?" he asked, sounding tired. "Whatever it was, you didn't make any deals with him, did you?" The last was said with such a huge dose of fatalism that I figured he knew the answer and hated it already.

I shifted uncomfortably in my chair. "Well...actually, yes. He wanted us to find what the Deorsi are looking for and destroy it. As to what it is...he made a comment about 'smashing every stone from narthex to nave', so I'm guessing it's a temple. He also said we had to find it fast, 'before they do', which seems like weak evidence that it's close to where the Deorsi are right now."

Thomas nodded, more crisply now. His unflappable calm was reasserting itself, his aura of professionalism settling back around his shoulders. "Did he say why he wants it destroyed, or what the Deorsi want with it?"

I shook my head. "Nope. But when I asked, he said that he _couldn't_ tell me that. Not _wouldn't_ , but _couldn't_. As though something were preventing him. The only thing I can think of that could prevent a god from doing whatever he likes is a stronger god. So, whatever this temple is, it's probably dedicated to one of the most powerful gods in the local pantheon. We can check church records to see if they have any word on old abandoned temples in that area."

There were nods all around the room. Thomas finally responded "Well, at least now we know."

My mouth quirked in a half smile; I just couldn't resist. "Yes," I said soberly. "And knowing is half the battle. Go 'Jo!"

They looked at me like I was very weird.

There was a knock at the door, making me startle. Thomas got a strange look on his face; 'sad but resigned' is the best I could describe it. "Come in!" I called.

The door opened and Duncan, Robert, Rob, Bob, and Aerith strode in.

I jumped up, gaping. "You're alive!"

Duncan scowled at me. "Of course we're alive! You don't think they'd let perfectly good Landguard laze about in the afterlife when there's a war on, do you? They've been resurrecting us for the last three hours. I was one of the first ones up; I stayed down there to get things organized, but once a few of the other Sergeants were on their feet I grabbed these big lunks and came to reinforce you in case the Deorsi decide they're feeling frisky again despite this truce I heard about."

Thomas climbed to his feet; his posture was recruiting-poster perfect, his expression perfectly military-blank, but I saw a hint of pain somewhere around his eyes.

"Duncan, Alpha Squad, please stay. The rest of you, take guard outside the door. No visitors." That was full Command Voice; everyone's hindbrains got them moving before their cerebellum even properly registered the words.

'Alpha Squad,' as they were apparently known (was there a Delta Squad? If so, were they tasked with counterterrorism?) spread out and took up guard around the room. Duncan stayed on his feet, eyes on Thomas and frowning fit to split mountains.

Thomas braced to attention, his eyes straight ahead and looking about three feet over my head. He paused, taking a deep breath. "My Lord, please accept my resignation as Commander of the Landguard. By allowing you to die on the field of battle I have failed in my duty and shown myself unfit to serve. I have been holding off until I could transfer command smoothly; it's time. Sergeant Duncan, for my final act as your superior officer, I appoint you Commander of the Landguard, sixty second High Defender of Ruler And Land. Serve with honor."

He snapped off what was obviously a textbook salute: feet together, arms crossed at the wrists over his chest, hands fisted, head slightly bowed. With a simultaneous stamp, every other Landguard returned the salute.

My jaw fell to my lap in horror.

* * *

 _ **Author's Note:**_ _On January 17, GeeJo picked up on the 'narthex to nave' comment from last chapter and called it that the Deorsi were looking for a temple. Go 'Jo!_


	24. chapter 24

_**Author's Note**_ _: In the information graph of the world, there is no edge labeled 'ownership' connecting my vertex to the vertex of D &D._

* * *

I blinked.

"What?!"

His eyes drifted down to me, looking positively haunted. "M'Lord, you _died_ because of my mistake. When the Deorsi attacked, I failed to remove you from the Plaza. I also failed to place you under anti-magic protection when the troops and I went in against the Deorsi infantry. The infantry were the proximate threat; they had to be dealt with first, and we were heavily outnumbered so I needed all the troops in order to stop them from bypassing us. I knew that the Deorsi wouldn't call down fire on their own people; every scrap of information we had supported that, so I judged it safe to leave you unattended for a few rounds while we dealt with the incoming. I felt that we could reduce their numbers and then I and Alpha Squad could step back to cover you with anti-mage defense and close-in protection while the rest of the 'Guard went after the magi. In retrospect, it's clear that this was a mistake; I should have left someone beside you with a readied action to provide anti-magic defense as required. I didn't expect your lightning weapon to drop all of them so quickly, and when they went down...I critical failed my initiative roll and the mages got their attacks off before I could move. I didn't give the right orders, and you _died._ "

I shrugged uneasily, shuddering as the memories of death and resurrection unspooled through my newly-augmented high-fidelity memory. "Thomas, it's ok. I got better. It all came out ok."

His face twisted, the stoic mask cracking. "My Lord, **you died.** No ruler of Flobovia has been killed in office for eight hundred years! I am the _first_ Landguard commander to fail his principal, _ever_. There is no excuse; it was a plain error in judgement."

I wasn't exactly sure what I was feeling, but whatever it was, it was pretty close to panic. "Thomas, _I'm fine._ Death is cheap here—there's so many ways to bring someone back from the dead it's not even funny. It's not—"

He was shaking his head before I was halfway through, and finally he cut me off, talking over me. "No, it's _not._ Not for you. You aren't from this world; the normal rules don't apply to you. There's no afterlife waiting for you to call you back from; if you die, you die. Period."

I frowned. "That's pretty obviously not true, since I'm sitting here."

Thomas was still shaking his head. Peripherally, I was vaguely aware that the other Landguard were watching us, stonefaced and immobile, trying not to draw attention while we had our battle of wills. I didn't have the attention to spare to really notice them, though.

"My Lord, no," he told me. "You were _not_ resurrected. Raise Dead, Resurrection—even True Resurrection won't work on you. Remember how we told you that you had been dead for four hours because it took that long to get you off the battlefield? That was a lie; we had your body off the battlefield and back in the palace within ten minutes of your demise. We had the Archpriest there five minutes later."

He paused and took a deep breath as though preparing himself for great pain. His voice was wobbly as he continued; he sounded like the words were being torn out of him. "The Archpriest spent four hours communing with the True God, bargaining for your life. Even the True God could not bring you back; once dead, you were simply gone, your soul unrecoverable. Instead, He bent time, making it so that you never actually died. He pulled you off the battlefield in the moment between when you were hit by the attacks and when you died. He transported you to the Work Room and healed your wounds. It was a mighty working, even for Him, and He made clear that He would not do it again. If I fail you again, there will be no third chance; this is why I am unfit to serve. You need someone wiser and more cautious than I."

I blinked and cocked my head a bit, trying to wrap head around that. My newly enhanced brain considered what I'd just been told, examined the causality involved and went _Tilt! Does not compute!_

"But...but...that doesn't make sense," I whimpered. "If the God pulled me through time, then my body wasn't there for you to carry back to the castle, so—yurgh!"

Thomas shrugged; a vague trace of sympathetic humor flickered over the pain in his eyes and, just for a moment, his mouth twitched into something vaguely like a smile before dropping back into misery.

"I and the other Landguard survivors remember—and lived through—both timelines. Both paths actually happened, but when they merged back together this is the timeline we were left with. Thankfully." There was indeed a lot of thanks in his voice as he said that.

I thought about it for another few seconds, trying to make sense of the idea that causality could be tied into a four-dimensional pretzel, and what the resulting chain of events must have looked like. When I felt my eyes crossing I pushed it away and focused on the important issue: talking Thomas out of his resignation.

"Well, however unorthodox it might have been, the fact remains: I'm not dead. So I don't see how you failed your duty. I'm still here, so clearly you didn't fail to protect me."

His expression turned outright mulish; clearly, he was determined not to be swayed away from his belief in his own failure. "The fact remains, My Lord: you died. It is my job to keep you alive, and I failed. I am the first Landguard _ever_ to fail in my duty and I have dishonored myself and shamed the tradition of the 'Guard. It has been a pleasure to serve you, My Lord. May your reign be long and successful." His mouth twitched slightly again, the vaguest hint of a smile. "If only because if you _don't_ have a long reign, it means we lost the war."

Another time, another conversation, and that might actually have been funny.

Thomas saluted me, bowed, and turned on his heel for the door.

"Alpha Squad, stop that man," I said, speaking to the air distractedly. The whole room seemed to lurch as everyone looked at me, startled. Robert and the others looked at me, looked at Thomas, and slowly moved to block his way. They looked horribly embarrassed, and nodded to Thomas apologetically as they stepped in his path.

 _~Figure it out, brain!~_ I yelled into the cavern of my skull. An echoing silence came back; I was simply too stunned by the situation to have much brainpower online.

Grimly, I forced my newly enhanced brain to lock onto the problem, pushing aside the surprise, confusion, and outright horror. I would deal with all that later; right now, I needed to figure this out. I rested my chin on my tented fingers and closed my eyes, forcing myself to run down every possibility branch, looking to see where there might be a path to victory.

"Jake, you can't do this," Thomas said, simultaneously resigned and irritated.

I didn't even look up. "Hello, absolute dictator here? I bloody well can do this. Now be quiet for a minute. That's an order." Thomas's face went red from rage and promises of death flashed from his eyes, but he obeyed, folding his arms and tapping his foot impatiently.

 _~I need to convince him not to go. How?~_ I threw together a thought forest, each node in the forest being the root of a tree charting all the opening statements I could make, the probable responses to it, my responses to that. Rapidly, I started pruning the forest.

 _~I order you not to resign.~_ Fail; he would say that he had failed me, dishonored himself, and it was not in my best interest for him to continue to serve.

 _~It's not in the best interest of the Land for the most experienced Landguard to resign.~_ Fail. He would go off and join one of the Special Units, which would satisfy his need for service while removing him from my vicinity.

 _~You're being a coward and running away from your duty.~_ Fail. A direct attack would only make him dig in his heels further. He was already wallowing in self-doubt and self-flagellation, heaping more fuel on the fire wouldn't help.

 _~You didn't fail, because I'm still alive.~_ Fail. He remembered me being dead, therefore in his mind he had failed.

Oh. There it was.

"Thomas, sit down and listen to me," I instructed firmly, pointing at the chair opposite me.

"Jake, let the poor guy go," Allison said from the fireplace. For once, she wasn't her usual acerbic self; her tone was pure sadness. "Don't make it worse than it already is."

I shook my head. "Sit down, Thomas. I'll make you a deal: you listen to me for three minutes and seriously consider what I have to say. If at the end of that you still want to go, you can, with my blessings."

Unwillingly, he took a seat and sat, stiffly, lips pressed together in an impatient scowl.

I took a deep breath and leaned forward. I was rolling the dice big time here; any good trial lawyer will tell you never to ask a question you don't know the answer to. I was betting a lot on a few guesses and some twisty logic that I would need to persuade Thomas to accept.

"Assume the Deorsi had never attacked and everything was fine. As the Command of the Landguard, would your oath allow you to resign your post in time of war?" I stared at him intently, praying that my guesses were correct.

His response made clear his irritation and impatience. "What does that have to do with anything? I've made up my mind, Jake, let it go."

"Answer the question. Would your oath allow you to resign in time of war?"

"No, of course not. Our duty is to protect the ruler, resigning would be to forsake that duty. But that's not relevant; I failed in my duty and proved myself unfit. My bad judgement clearly makes me a danger to you in a command role; it is my duty to remove myself."

I held on to the beginning of that speech and discarded the rest. A faint ray of hope spread through me. "Ok, so your duty would not allow you to resign if nothing had gone wrong, but since it did it is now your duty _to_ resign. Fine. Why didn't you resign when that ninja rat attacked me in the hallway and killed me?"

He blinked, his face screwing up in angry bafflement at what seemed like mockery. "What are you talking about? No ninja rat attacked you."

I affected surprise. "Hold on, you don't remember that ninja rat attacking and killing me? Why didn't you resign then?"

"Because it didn't happen! Stop screwing around, Jake. I'm done with this." He rose to his feet, intending to stride out of the room, but paused when I jumped in.

"So your duty wouldn't allow you to resign over something that never happened?" This was the key point; I needed him to acknowledge it. I was leaning forward, trying to will the words out of him the way an audience raises a leg to will the highjumper over the bar.

"Godsdam—True God damnit Jake, stop mocking me! This isn't funny." He face was bright red and he was literally shaking. A less disciplined man might well have slugged me already.

"Answer the question, Thomas! Would your duty allow you to resign over something that didn't happen?"

"Obviously not! Stop being stupid, you prat!"

My breath whooshed out in relief as the trap closed. I leaned back, smiling. "In that case, why do you feel you have the right to resign now?" I paused, watching his face. He was starting to look confused as well as angry, which was exactly what I needed. "You said it yourself, Thomas. _The God unmade that timeline._ He snatched me across time and space in the split second before I died and healed me. _I never actually died in this timeline._ It never happened. You may remember it, but those are false memories; they don't reflect the current state of history. If your duty won't allow you to resign over something that didn't happen, then you can't resign over my 'death'...because I didn't die."

He started to retort and then froze, mouth open, as his thoughts shifted gears without a clutch.

After a moment he collapsed back into his chair, looking completely poleaxed. "But...it did happen. You died. I carried your body to the castle myself. You were burned; I remember bits of you breaking off, even though I carried you as gently as I could."

I shuddered, pushing the images away. My newly enhanced memory and imagination suddenly began to seem like far more of a curse than a blessing; I knew I'd be seeing that image again at random moments for a long time.

"Yes, and thank you for that charming picture. Whatever you think you remember, it's a lie. That isn't the way history really is. It's like some magic spell planted false memories in your head." Thomas flashed a glance at me, eyes wide, and then his expression vanished into his usual blank professional mask. "Whatever you think you remember, that's simply not what happened. What actually happened is that I was hit by a fireball and then instantly teleported to the Work Room and healed. I never _actually_ died, not even for a moment. As such, you never failed your duty and you have no right to resign."

You could have heard a pin drop.

"But...but you were hit by the fireball. You _would_ have died, except for divine intervention. And it's my fault that you were hit." The tone was confused, sad, maybe a bit frightened, but I heard a tiny flicker of hope in there somewhere.

I grabbed onto that flicker and tried to fan it into a flame. "Whether your decisions were optimal or not, they were clearly good enough because I didn't die. Yes, there is a possible world in which I died. And in that possible world you convinced the Archpriest to bring me back, which destroyed that possible world. The world where I died never happened; we don't live there, and history doesn't look like that. Whether you saved me on the battlefield, or saved me by convincing the Archpriest to rewrite time, the fact is that you made the decision that saved me. You did your duty, you protected my life, and you have no right to give up and abandon your post."

Allison's voice was gentle. "He's right, Thomas. You didn't fail. And even if you believe you did, he needs you. He needs your advice even more than your physical protection; you're the only member of the Landguard with the political and strategic skill to advise him. Duncan's a hell of a fighter, a great trainer, and a great tactician, but he's no strategist. No offense, Duncan," she added hurriedly.

Duncan grunted, amused. "Only a damn fool gets offended by the simple truth, girl." His leathery face twisted into a wry grin for a moment and he snorted, shaking his head in bemusement. "The boy's got you, lad. Whatever you think, you didn't actually fail your duty. And even if you did, leaving would be a bigger failure than staying. The boy needs your support on the Conclave; he's already pissed off the Duke and the Archpriest, Isaac is a snooty, easily-offended bastard, and Lady Shadow always wants a weak ruler because it makes for more criminal opportunity. Lady Justice likewise—she doesn't want rulers coming along and changing all the laws around, making her scramble to reorganize her corps. If you leave and appoint me Commander that means I'm stuck on the hot seat. How do you think I'd handle those bastards? My idea of a decisive argument involves kicking someone in the balls and shoving a sword through his face. They'd eat me alive."

Thomas just sat there, his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. "But..but I can't do the job. I resigned in front of all of you; it would weaken my command authority." The argument was half-hearted; clearly, he wanted to be proven wrong.

Sensing victory, I whipped around to face the others. "This is a direct order: you will never, under any circumstances, reveal the fact that Thomas attempted to resign. Not to anyone. Not your priest, not your girlfriend, not your mother. No one. Do not discuss it amongst yourselves, do not even think about it. As far as you're concerned, it never happened. Because if the word got out, then Thomas would lose his ability to be an effective Commander. And without Thomas as an effective Commander, I can't be as effective a ruler. And if I can't be effective as a ruler, we'll probably lose the war and all the people of the Land will be killed or drafted to go fight undead. So talking about it would be not just a breach of a direct order from your ruler, but also counter to your duty to the Land. Got it?" I waited for them all to nod, then turned back to Thomas, a wicked grin on my face.

"Next?" I asked archly. I had the win and we all knew it. The sweet, sweet tang of victory was in my mouth and I wasn't letting it get away.

Thomas slumped bonelessly in his chair, his forearms hanging limply over the armrests. He just stared at me for a long minute.

Finally his expression firmed up and he rose smoothly to his feet, snapping off a parade-ground salute to me. "Thomas Rheinhart, Commander of the Landguard, sixty first High Defender of Ruler And Land, reporting for duty My Lord! How may I serve?"

I blew out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding and sagged in my seat with relief.


	25. chapter 25

_**Author's Note**_ _: Blah blah, non ownership, blah blah not for profit, blah blah don't sue blah._

 _Special treat for you guys: extra long chapter today. I considered breaking it up, but decided it was more fun (and a little alliterative) to buy bad news in bulk rather than making six weekly payments of only $19.95._

* * *

The release of tension left me feeling drained; all I wanted to do was sit, stare at the fire where Allison was perched, and turn my brain off for a while. Some mind-candy TV would have been perfect but, sadly, was not an option, since apparently the only thing the people in this world used electricity for was flash-frying perfectly innocent interdimensionally kidnapped monarchs named Jake.

Eventually I leaned forward and got on to briefing my loyal minions. "Well, Loki—sorry, Trickster. I need to remember that Loki is just one of his facets; Suze, could you get me a briefing on Wilgam, Karash, and any other trickster gods from the area? It could be relevant. Actually, I take that back. Just get me a briefing on all the local gods. But focus on the tricksters."

"Yes, M'Lord. You also asked me for a briefing on magic items. I can get that, too."

I nodded. "That would actually be perfect. I need to know if a particular item exists hereabouts."

She nodded, got up, and left the room.

"Anyway, Trickster showed up, froze time, and we had a long talk." I frowned. "Which, now that I think about it, surprises me a lot. The Time Stop spell only freezes time for 2-5 rounds, and that's only 12-30 seconds. We talked for probably fifteen or twenty minutes."

Thomas shrugged. "First off, he's a god. Second off, talking is a free action so it takes no time. The two of you could have discussed the entire history of the world from start to finish and it would still have fit in one round."

I gawped at him, then put my head in my hands and shook it back and forth. "I hate this world so very much," I whimpered.

Every single one of the Landguard started laughing at me. Bastards.

Eventually I picked my head up and sighed. "Fine, whatever. Your world is totally broken, film at eleven. Let's get back to it. All of you, sit."

They didn't jump to it, but they took their seats. As they were settling, Thomas gave them all a speaking glance and a slight nod; none of them sheathed their blades, and they all sat on the edge of their chairs, weight still on the balls of their feet.

Apparently Thomas was feeling that mother-henning instinct again. Joy. I had so enjoyed our intimate moments in the bathroom, and I was delighted at the sudden surety that it would become a regular experience.

"Ok, while we wait for Suze with the full briefing, I've got a couple of questions." I took a deep breath and steeled myself. I really, really did not want to have to admit this, but it was necessary. "The High Priest literally moved heaven and earth to bring me back to life, and then I cursed him out, threatened to defrock him and imprison him. Which might not have been exactly the most optimal course of action."

"Don't forget the part where you threatened to 'disassemble his pathetic church brick by brick,' M'Lord," Robert added helpfully.

"Oh, right," Aerith added, his tone equally 'helpful'. "And the part where you told him that organized religion was the most damaging thing ever invented by human beings. That was good too."

"Thank you, Aerith, for your valuable input," I told him with biting sarcasm.

Of course Bob had to put his two copper pieces in. "Ooh, and there was the part where you directly ordered the Commander to 'burn him to ash' if he interfered with anything. A masterpiece of decisive leadership, M'Lord."

Rob wasn't about to be left out of the fun either. "Of course, I'm sure he appreciated you taking his family hostage. That's sure to have wiped out any minor irritation he had about the rest of it." He nodded, pleased with his helpfulness.

I took a deep breath and reminded myself that, (a) they were wearing armor with gorgets so it was physically impossible to strangle them, and (b) every single one of them could kill me with his pinky.

"Yes, well, thank you for those helpful reminders. Clearly, I screwed up and it be time to pay the fiddler. The dressing down happened in public, so the apology better be in public as well." I grimaced as though I'd just bitten a lemon. I seriously did not want to do this; however much it turned out I owed this man, he really, really pissed me off. But, I owed him a debt. Speaking of which...

"I'll make the apology in front of the Conclave. But an apology isn't going to be enough, I need to come up with some action to back it up, and I have no idea what would be appropriate. Any suggestions?"

Thomas shrugged. "You could kick the Dark Lady off the Conclave, that would make him pretty happy, and the minor churches don't really have the influence to hurt you."

I seriously considered that for a second, then shook my head. "No, I made a deal with her. Going back on it would be a short-term positive to the Archpriest issue, but a long-term negative in general. Being known as untrustworthy makes it hard to get anything done. Is there anything he cares about that we could throw money at? Does he want any titles, land, government support for a pet project?"

"Well," Aerith put it, clearly thinking out loud. "I think he's a book collector. He made a passing comment once about going to an estate auction because they had a first edition copy of _De Daemonibus_ by Rupert Selig."

I nodded, pleased. "Ok, great, let's get as many rare old books as we can. We'll give him the originals, build a library of the copies and dedicate it to him. What else?"

There was a long silence as everyone tried to come up with something else, with about as much success as the Fundamentalist movement trying to convert Richard Dawkins.

"Commander, what about his nephew?" Franklin stammered. The poor kid looked wildly uncomfortable to be speaking up. I gave him props for having the stones.

Thomas quirked an eyebrow and looked at his juniormost 'Guard. "What about him? For that matter, who is he?"

"Jason Liandola-Marcen, sir. Son of his sister, who married that elf merchant over in Tarisia. He was at the reception for that trade conference two years ago, and I heard him talking to some of his friends. Sounds like the kid's been soldier crazy all his life. He's fifteen, and he's already tried to get into the Tarisian military twice, but they rejected him until he hits majority. We could offer him a place at the next intake."

Thomas frowned. "Intake is not a door prize to be traded around for political favors."

I looked back and forth, confused. "Someone want to clue the guy on the hotseat in on what the heck you're talking about?"

Thomas turned back to me. "The Landguard have an intake test every year when we're under numbers. We typically get thirty or forty thousand applicants, of whom we allow two hundred into intake. We typically get two, maybe three Landguard out of each intake. And I am not taking the kid just as a political bargaining chip, period. The Writ lays out the rules for the Landguard and it boils down to 'The Commander makes the call on who gets in.' I am not letting my unit be degraded just because you lost your temper." The last was said with the finality of a slamming door.

I nodded, holding up my hands in a placating gesture. "Ok, fair enough. I wouldn't expect you to just give the kid membership. But can you at least let him be one of the intake? You don't need to give him special treatment, but give him the same chance that everyone else in the intake gets."

Thomas's entire face frowned, and he opened his mouth to say what I was pretty sure what was going to be a refusal, but Duncan cut in. "Go ahead, Commander," he said, leaning forward and leaning his elbows on his knees. "I'll make sure to give the kid...special attention. If he can hang, he'll be worth it." He grinned that evil shark grin that I had come to associate with very large degrees of pain and a trip to the healer.

Thomas's frown shifted into simple disgust. "Fine," he said grudgingly. "He's in the intake. But we do it subtly. Send someone to suggest to him, discreetly, that he should apply. If he does, he'll be one of the ones that gets in. But, Duncan—hammer him. He better be something goddamn amazing to make the grade. I'm not having any rumor that he got in on favoritism, so it better be totally, crystal, extra-clean clear that he made it in on merit."

Duncan nodded, with that evilly gleeful expression that is usually only possessed by the Evil Overlord's main minion right before he does something horrible that bumps the movie up one rating. I looked around, "Ok, books, library, nephew. I'll even promise him support on a couple of Conclave votes. What else?"

A knock on the door interrupted the brainstorming.

I raised an eyebrow but called out. "Come i—" I was cut off by Thomas coming to his feet, one hand raised in a 'stop' gesture. There was no perceptible signal that I saw, but suddenly he and Duncan were at the door, Franklin was yanking me to the floor and flipping my chair forward so that it covered me from knees to neck. Even before the chair hit the floor, Franklin was joining the rest of his squad in a wall around me. All of the Landguard had their blades in hand.

Duncan took up a position to the side of the door, one blade raised, ready to cut in half whomever came through should they have the ill grace to not be friendly...or, you know, if Duncan didn't like the color of their shoes. His other blade he held at chest level, ready to parry any attack that the invader might make.

Thomas looked back to check that the rest were set and gave a nod. Robert tapped his swords together and the familiar ringing spread across the room, banishing Allison and the Continual Flame torches again. Once again the room descended into near darkness, deep shadows dancing around as the flames flickered and danced in the fireplace, left over from where Allison had been chowing on the apple tree logs.

Seeing that everything was in place, Thomas pulled the door open a crack, bracing himself to hold the door shut if anyone tried to ram it open.

Pinned as I was, with a wall of Landguard in front of me, I could barely raise my head enough to see anything, but I heard a cool contralto voice inquire dryly, "May I come in without being skewered, Commander? I have some intelligence that His Lordship needs to have. It's somewhat urgent."

Thomas hesitated, but finally let the woman in. She was medium height and utterly forgettable: medium brown hair, medium skin tone, medium build. She was clad in brown leathers that blended with the shadows better than pure black would have; black would have shown her as a silhouette, darker than the shadows, but the brown simply vanished.

As she entered, Duncan grabbed her by the collar, shoved her up against the wall, and proceeded to give her the same quick frisk that Thomas had given me earlier. She took it stoically and when he finally released her she rolled her eyes, directing a vaguely amused, vaguely irked glance at him. "I don't suppose you could teach my husband that trick, could you? Might be nice to spice things up a bit."

Duncan grinned, his teeth flashing white in the near-darkness. "I'll see what I can do. There's probably a few other tricks I could teach him, if you like. How do you feel about rope?"

She came right back with acid. "Why, are you going to hang my planters for me? Do you do windows too?"

While the two of them had their little verbal "who's the biggest alpha" tussle, Alpha Squad was setting the chair aright and helping me to my feet. I glared at them, brushed the dust off, and turned to the woman. Robert tapped his swords together again and the lights—and Allison—snapped back into existence.

Allison promptly lit off like a squad of drunk sailors. "What in the name of every devil and daemon and demon and snot spirit in every layer of the Pit is your problem you braindead lump of festering, boil-bearing, water-soaked meat?! Did you not hear the part about 'Don't do that, it friggin' _hurts_!' It's not exactly a difficult concept, even a meatsack like you should be able to get it through your walnut brain! You moronic maggot, your mother—" She kept going, getting more profane by the minute, but I tuned her out.

"Please, have a seat. And who might you be, ma'am?" I inquired, pretty sure I knew the answer.

She turned to face me and gave a small nod before moving slowly and carefully to the chair opposite me. Thomas stayed about six inches from her the whole time, in front and slightly to the left where he could easily restrain her if she tried a physical attack. Duncan was behind her to the right, both blades ready to strike at the slightest hint of trouble.

Her savoir faire was amazing; she appeared not to even notice the paranoia of the elite killers around her. "I am Alicia Greene, the Imperial Spymaster, M'Lord. And I've collected some important facts for you."

I raised my eyebrows in polite inquiry. "Do tell?"

She took the seat carefully, leaning back slowly and crossing her legs as would a man, ankle on knee. "There's several problems brewing all at once, M'Lord. First," she said, ticking off her index finger, "the Archpriest has been giving sermons lately, which he usually only does on High Festival. The sermons are mostly about the True God casting down the Black King of Tarisia, after that worthy completed his enlichment ceremony and started killing all the priests."

I frowed and leaned forward, raising a hand to interrupt. "I'm sorry—his enrichment ceremony? What, he was made of uranium?"

They never get my references, and she was no exception. "Enlichment, M'Lord. He made himself into a lich. He was an extremely powerful wizard and he made himself undead so that he could live forever. The ritual is such that only an Evil person would attempt it, so there's really never been such a thing as a _good_ lich."

She shrugged, dismissing the issue. "The important point, M'Lord, is that he started killing all the priests in Tarisia in order to prevent them from using their divine power against him. The True God took exception to that, and physically manifested to cast him down. The Archpriest is drawing parallels between your actions at the parely and the Black King's actions after his enlichment."

I sighed. "Actually, we just talked about that. I'm going to call a Conclave meeting tomorrow. I'll be apologizing to him and trying to make it right. If you have any suggestions on how to do that, I'd accept them gratefully."

She nodded. "I do, actually. However, allow me to finish my report. The Archpriest isn't the only issue."

I sighed again, resisting the urge to rub my temples; it would show too much weakness. "Please, continue."

She nodded brusquely and ticked off her second finger. "The Archpriest is one issue, but the Association of Magi is a much bigger one—more like a set of issues, actually. Your policy of forcing all wizards to share spells with anyone who wanted them has been...unpopular. By which I mean, there has been open fighting and two dozen midlevel magi have died in mage duels. The Justiciars are mobilizing to arrest the victors, but it's legally complicated. In four of the thirteen duels, no civilians were harmed and there was no property damage, which would normally put the duelists outside of civil law and make it an internal matter of the Association. But six of the participants were _also_ involved in the other nine duels, in which buildings were damaged and eleven civilians were harmed—fortunately there was no loss of life. The duelists are under civil law for those acts. But the Association is claiming that they have prior claim because of the first duels, and are refusing to allow the Justiciars access."

She paused for a moment, uncrossing her legs and organizing her thoughts before continuing. "Lady Justice is taking that refusal in poor stead, of course. She's managed to arrest five of the accused wizards before they reached asylum at the Association Meeting Hall. Their court panels have already been selected and the trials will happen first thing tomorrow. Lady Justice is pushing for the maximum sentence: level reduction, one level for each person harmed."

I saw Robert wince, and even Duncan looked surprised.

"What the hell is she thinking?" Duncan growled. "Level reduction hasn't been used in over two hundred years!"

Alicia glanced at him and shrugged. "It's still on the books and, theoretically, it's one of the possible sentences for unconstrained mage duels that quote, cause harm to city or citizen, unquote. And she's _pissed_ ; one of my agents overheard her telling her Deputy that she wants to make an example out of these magi so that the Association learns its place and stops tearing up the city with its asinine squabbles. That's a direct quote, by the way."

She turned back to me and continued her report, her voice calm and disinterested as though she were relating the weather report instead of an oncoming civil apocalypse. "The Association, of course, is not willing to allow level reduction on one of its members. They feel it would set a poor precedent, and they're afraid that if it's allowed against any member then soon it will become standard for all wizarding infractions. They've retained a Speaker for the defendants, and most of the membership is turning out en masse to attend the trial. There's been no explicit statement that they will fight if the defendants are sentenced, but I would be more surprised if they didn't."

She tipped her head to one side, eyes on the horizon in thought. "Of course, I think some of that overreaction is the recent change in leadership. The new Archmagi achieved their rank too quickly; they don't have a lot of political experience, and they're desperate to prove themselves to the Association membership."

I blinked. "Hang on, what change in leadership? I haven't heard anything about this."

She shrugged impassively. "The wizards who owned the Dedicated Wrights that you bombed the Deorsi with...between them they wiped out twenty thousand troops, probably including some mid- and high-level people. Of course, they only received a very small fraction of the experience, since there was no real danger to them, but even that was enough to catapult Wizards Hall and Cooper up five levels, and Wizard Nelson went up six. Anyway, they went up enough levels that they surpassed the existing Archmagi, and therefore took the 'Archmage' title from them. The Archmagi are, by definition, the leaders of the Association, and the new officeholders are, as I said, eager to make changes to prove themselves. Add to that the fact that these arenas of yours have moved a lot of junior mages up into the middle ranks, and all the political blocs have been destabilized. Everyone is scrambling to forge new alliances, and the forging is getting, if you'll excuse me, a bit heated." She shrugged. "Basically, the Association is in complete chaos."

I was on the edge of whimpering, but she just ground mercilessly onwards. "And, finally, the One Hundred have just emerged from the Elfhame. They're on the Trade Road, and they'll be here sometime in the next week, depending on how many way station inns they stop at."

Every single one of the Landguard groaned. Thomas actually rested his head on his hand for a moment, shaking it in disgust.

I looked around and felt a faint stirring of concern, much as one might feel upon being told "There's a pretty good chance you have cancer. We'll let you know after the tests come back."

I waited for someone to explain, but no one did. The Landguard were all mired in negativity, and the Imperial Spymaster was just smiling faintly at the impact of her news.

"Ahem!" I carped. "And the One Hundred would be...?"

Thomas picked up his head with a sigh. "They're properly called the Swords of Flame, because their signature weapons are magical fire swords. They're a mercenary company—they've been around about ten years, and they've built quite a reputation. Fact is, they're truly excellent warriors with good equipment, and good discipline on the battlefield. Everyone wants them on the field fighting in their name. But that's the thing...they want them _on the field_ , not anywhere nearby. They aren't bad folks, but they do tend to get a little rowdy—" He was interrupted by Duncan muttering something about 'Maligaw is a little wet.'

Thomas paused, shooting a gimlet stare at his Sergeant before continuing. "Anyway, when they come to town, their Captain does a Review of the One Hundred at the gates. Basically, he checks them for appropriate dress and more-or-less lack of lethal weapons, lectures them on proper behavior, and turns them loose on the city. The number of barfights and alleyside duels goes way up, as does the number of unwed pregnancies. Every time they visit, at least three or four taverns end up burning down, and there's a regular crimewave of thefts. Mostly expensive booze, foods, and pipeweed, but also some jewels, silks, perfumes, and other things that you might give to a, ah, 'girlfriend.'" He didn't quite do the air quotes with his fingers, but I got the point.

Robert groaned. "And _we_ always get called out to deal with them, because they're too high level for the regular Guard to deal with. Man, last time they were here I was on MP duty. Cost me three hundred gold to get everything healed and my back was still aching for a week."

Bob felt the need to throw his hat into the ring of this 'joy-inducing news' competition. "Don't forget about the pranks their Nightfigher element likes to pull," he said with a laugh. "Those guys are hilarious."

Aerith snickered. "Remember when they stripped Justiciar Maple to his skivvies and hung him up on the flagpole in Market Square? They must have spelled him to sleep, because he woke up on the pole with no idea how he got there. We never did find any proof it was them, but come on—it was two days after they came to town, and the morning before that Maple had two of their infantry thrown in jail for drunk and disorderly."

"Boys can drink though, and their quartermaster makes some damn good hooch," Duncan offered with fond remembrance. "I haven't had a headache that bad in years."

Thomas grinned at the memory. "As I recall, you drank three of their young bucks under the table. One after the next. How much did you end up making that night?"

Duncan grinned right back. "Couple hundred gold. They just couldn't believe that a guy my age could handle his booze." He snorted in remembered contempt. "Stupid idjits. I grew up in Three Hills; there wasn't anything to do there _but_ drink. I could have put any one of those punks under the table when I was twelve."

I had a feeling that the tales of the Hundred's troublemaking and the Landguard's love/hate relationship with them were going to continue indefinitely, but fortunately we were rescued by the door opening and Suze slipping inside.

Thomas and Duncan were on their feet and at the door instantly. Robert and Rob put themselves between me and Suze, while Bob and Aerith continued to cover Alicia.

"Thomas, I don't think Suze is here to assassinate me," I commented drily. "I'm pretty sure those are books she's holding, not a dagger. And I don't think she's been replaced an evil alternate-world doppleganger: she's missing a goatee." Thomas looked unconvinced and I sighed. "Suze, what was the last thing I said to you before you left?"

"I reminded you you had asked for a briefing on magic items, M'Lord," she said, rattled by the Landguard's suspicion. "I asked if you wanted me to get that too. And you said yes, that would be perfect, and that you had a particular item you needed to look up."

I looked archly at Thomas and he slowly backed off. He still didn't allow Suze close enough to hand the books to me directly. Instead he took them from her and passed them to me, guiding her to a seat away from mine.

I shook my head and examined Suze's find. The first was a thin book bound in blue leather; the front cover showed a picture of two gods and their respective priests battling it out. The title was "Divinities and Semi-Mortals". The other was "Principles of Item Enchantment"; it seemed to be an introductory text on how to create magic items. Physically, it was less of a book and more of a three-ring binder the size of a coffee table book. It had apparently, as the military would so quaintly put it, 'been ruggedized,' meaning it was designed to resist encounters with mud, sand, rapidly moving pieces of lead, the blast fronts of high explosives, and, in this case, apparently nuclear weapons. The covers were plates of steel and the pages were thin sheets of some silvery metal with words, diagrams, and runes carefully carved into them. The thing was heavy as hell.

Both books had a copious number of bookmarks sticking out of them, each with a notation of what it covered carefully written in a neat, feminine hand. I set "Divinities and Semi-Mortals" aside for now and opened the "Principles", flipping straight to the meticulously thorough index. I ran one finger down it until I saw what I was hoping for.

"Yes!" I shouted, fistpumping. Slamming the book shut I hefted it (with some effort) aside and stood up.

"Come on, guys and gals," I caroled, grinning ear to ear. "We'll worry about the various falling anvils later. Right now, I need to see a man about a candle." I was cackling maniacally as I headed for the door.

The others looked at each other for a moment, clearly debating my sanity, and then scrambled to follow. I just wish I knew if they were motivated more by duty and friendship, or by the innate human desire to watch train wrecks in progress.


	26. chapter 26

_**Author's Note**_ _: Blah blah blah, not mine._

 _In more important news: if you read this chapter and enjoy it, you should send a PM to ebfiddler thanking her. She was kind enough to beta it for me, and as a result it is enormously better than it started. While you're over there, read some of her stuff; it's really good._

 _Of course, it is entirely my fault if there is still any grammatical errors, tpyoes, or words missing from the end of._

* * *

When Thomas saw that I was intent on leaving the castle, he slammed on the brakes—by which I mean he grabbed my collar, pulled me into a side room and forcibly sat me down while sending Franklin for backup. It was just as well; it gave me some time to ask relevant questions that I had been too excited to think of, review the Brainopedia a bit, and have Suze run off to find some information about where we were going.

When we walked outside half an hour later there was what looked at first like an army of newly-resurrected Landguard waiting for us, but a quick count showed it to be only thirty one. My protective detail walked me straight into the middle of them. I started having flashbacks to high school, being the twiggy nerd that suddenly found himself surrounded by all the football jocks.

I frowned for a moment; that had been an odd thought. Before I could chase the oddity down, however, Thomas was crisply barking out orders.

"Sergeant Baker, mage suppression, arrow guard, and extraction. Sergeant Greenlake, you're still Alpha. Sergeants Carpenter, Wood, and Johnson—" there followed a lot of very involved conversation in Bodyguard, a little-known secret language that I do not speak. There was something about "long range, beer and pour her", but I'm almost positive that's not actually what he said. Common sense told me it had to have been "clear and secure" but that's really not what I heard.

Pretty soon I was wrapped up in four layers of security ranging out in concentric circles for nearly sixty feet. I'm sure each layer had its own purpose for existence and that all of those reasons related to somehow keeping my precious skin intact and unbruised. Don't get me wrong, I was absolutely fine with that goal, fully in support of it—one might even go so far as to say "seriously enthused by it." It still seemed like more than a bit of overkill. It was rather like having all of Delta Force escort the head of the high school Dungeons and Dragons club to homecoming.

I shook my head like a fly had landed on me. _~Again, something odd about that last thought, what was it?~_ Before I could really nail it down, we were moving, and I lost track of it.

The first few feet were the hardest, as we all sorted out our placements. Suze was just to my left, looking scared by all the surrounding muscle. Thomas was to my right, so close we occasionally bumped shoulders. Duncan was just on the other side of Suze, with the various layers of guards ranging outwards.

I'm pretty sure there have been entire military campaigns that did not require this much organization. Nonetheless, we started moving quickly and—I have no idea how—managed to clear the main gate of the castle without anyone getting tangled up in their own feet or seriously losing their place in the formation. I guess the Landguard really were just that good.

As we moved through the city, I was a little creeped out by the fact that the streets were totally deserted. No windows were open, there were no shoppers, homeless, or beggars visible...it was like passing through a ghost town.

Thomas saw me looking around and he tossed his head, pointing forward with his chin. "Lead units are evacuating the streets we'll be passing through, as well as all adjacent streets, and requiring all windows be closed. I am not risking your life again." He was back to that "like the Terminator, but less cuddly" tone that I remembered from our long-ago conversation upon my arrival.

There really wasn't much to say to that, so I just nodded and kept walking.

o-o-o-o

Half an hour later, we arrived at our destination without ever seeing a living soul. For a place that contained infinite cosmic power capable of making me effectively a god, it didn't look like much.

The building was wood, and small. Despite that, it was neatly kept, with elegantly beautiful carvings on each side of the entryway. Each one was a different natural scene: to the left, a river cut through mountains; to the right, a road lead through a wild meadow; above the door itself, a narrow path wound its way into a forest. The detail was exquisite; I could make out a butterfly over the river, a gooseberry bush in the meadow, and even a city kid like me could tell that the forest was birch and maple.

At the door was an elderly man in a colored robe. Were I a woman, and therefore able to see in 32-bit color, I would probably have said that the robe was 'sea-foam' or something like that. Being as my XY chromosomes only support 4-bit color vision, the robe was 'green.' (Protip for you ladies: if you're shopping with your boyfriend and you ask him "which do you like better, the periwinkle or the lavender?"...no matter what his answer, he's totally guessing. Also, speaking from personal experience, he's probably about ready to gnaw his arm off rather than do more clothes shopping, so the fact that he's there indicates that he truly loves you from the deepest wells of his soul. Just sayin'.)

As we walked up, Suze whispered in my ear: "Holy Brother Jason, son of William. His father and grandfather were both Holy Brothers."

"How may the temple of Ilara serve you this day, Your Lordship?" the old man inquired with a polite, if shallow, bow. He seemed honestly interested and, miracle of miracles, not offended by the Landguard presence. I had expected to have to do a lot of feather-smoothing before I could actually get down to business.

"Holy Brother Jason, thank you for your time. I'm sorry to intrude; I'm sure you have duties to attend, but I wonder if I could ask for your help? I need to find a Chaotic Good Candle of Invocation, and I suspect that the temple of Ilara is the best place."

Jason—rather, the Holy Brother—frowned in confusion. "Yes, of course. We use them to allow the Brothers to memorize extra healing spells for morning clinic, and to make first aid attempts more successful. What do you need one for?"

I smiled crookedly. "I'd like to use the other power of your Candles."

His frown got deeper. "What other power?"

This was the part I was most excited (and terrified) about. Apparently, no one here knew of the other power that I had finally remembered a Candle of Invocation to possess. According to various Internet forums that I had read, there was a truly horrible, massively overpowered exploit available with a Candle...but it depended on the second power of the Candle, which no one here seemed to be aware of. I was hoping that this was ignorance instead of a place where this world diverged from the canonical D&D rules. Also, I was kicking myself for not remembering this sooner.

"There's a special devotion I'd like to perform that can only be done with a Candle to aid in concentration," I told him seriously. It was...sort of true. Jedi true, anyway. I didn't want word of this trick leaking to anyone not part of my inner circle; it was just too powerful to spread around. "Could we please have one of your Candles, Holy Brother? I will of course make a sizable donation to your temple in thanks."

The Holy Brother continued frowning for a moment, but then shrugged and beckoned for us to follow him. He led us to the main room of the temple, where Ilara's altar stood in the center of a ring of pews. The cut and carved trunk of a ten-foot-thick tree, the altar towered over everything else in the room. It looked like birds-eye maple, but no maple tree had ever been large enough to have a spiral staircase carved into its rim.

I waited at the base of the altar until the Holy Brother returned with a lantern containing what was, presumably, the requested world-breaking Candle of Holy-God-That's-Awesome. Honestly, the speed of his return surprised me even more than his willingness to hand over the Candle; did he get so many people in here asking for them that they were kept handily nearby? I wouldn't think so, but given how screwed up this world was, who knows?

As Jason—I mean, the Holy Brother—approached, one of the Landguard stepped smoothly in front of him, relieving him of the lantern and passing it back while bowing politely and offering appropriate expressions of gratitude and appreciation.

The lantern got inspected and then handed through the various layers of my protective detail until it reached my gleeful little paws. I could barely contain my excitement.

There was one critical detail that needed to be handled, so I pushed through the Landguard until I reached our host. "Holy Brother, thank you so much. Please, you must allow me to give you something in exchange for the Candle. Would ten thousand gold be helpful to the temple?"

He bowed, smiling. "Your offer is generous, My Lord, but unnecessary. The Candle is yours for nothing. If you still wish to make a donation I will be grateful, but payment is not required."

That was all I needed to hear. "Thank you, sir. I will definitely make the donation—Suze, could you please ensure it happens no later than tomorrow?" She nodded and I smiled my thanks. "Holy Brother, do you mind if I use the Candle now?"

He gestured to the empty temple with a wry smile. "You're certainly not going to disturb anyone unless you're here until evening service. Please, make yourself at home. How may I assist?" He sounded curious and eager, and I felt bad about having to tell him he couldn't.

I pushed my face into an expression of regret; it was actually hard to do, since my insides were jumping up and down going "Squuuuuueeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!" as I gripped the lantern containing the Candle, but I soldiered on.

"Would it be alright if I asked for privacy?" I asked. It wasn't hard to sound abashed; no matter how excited I was by the promise of infinite cosmic power, I really was embarrassed to be kicking him out of his own temple. Especially since I had told him I was going to do some nifty devotional thing that he didn't know of and had to be seething with curiousity about.

He smiled gently, with more than a hint of regret, but was nice about it. "Of course. I'll be in my quarters. If you need me, just call." He bowed respectfully, turned, and paced out of the room. I was a little surprised, actually. He seemed so blasé about the whole thing. Did his church have so many Candles that he could pass them out like Halloween candy without even watching to see how they were used? Whatever the reason, his cooperation was awfully handy.

I couldn't resist actually rubbing my hands together as I contemplated the power of the simple little light source in front of me, and exactly how badly I was going to take advantage of it.

Here's the thing that I had remembered about the Candle of Invocation: it is vastly more broken even than the Flobovian "economy." It has two powers: grant a cleric of the Candle's alignment a small bonus when memorizing spells or performing various tasks...or allow the owner to cast a Gate spell.

A Gate spell creates a portal that allows travel to and from another plane of existence. It can also summon an extraplanar creature—for example, an elemental like Allison. But there were other creatures in the Outer and Lower Planes, Horatio, than were dreamt of by wise-cracking talking campfires. (Sorry, Bill. Bit of a misquote, I know.) At least two species of extraplanar beasties, the Efreeti and the Noble Djinn, had the ability to grant Wishes. And one thing that Wishes can do is create magic items...including items that grant Wishes.

I sat down crosslegged, tapping my fingers in evilly gleeful enthusiasm. I even let myself say "mwahahaha" just once. It was only in fun...I wasn't really planning to become an Evil Overlord.

Well...maybe just a little? No, no, definitely not, bad Jake. Get thee behind me, O tempting visions of fanatically obedient Legions of Terror.

"Thomas, something large and probably scary looking is going to appear in just a moment. Tell everyone to stand down; no one is to attack unless we are attacked first. And do **not** , under any circumstances, use your anti-magic trick. I repeat, do **not** use anti-magic while the creature is here. Clear?"

Thomas nodded. "Understood, M'Lord." Pitching his voice to carry, he repeated the orders "Listen up, people! Incoming, single being, nonhuman. Rules of engagement: reactive combat only, negative mage-suppresion. Say again, _negative_ mage suppression." Turning back to me he nodded decisively. "Ready when you are, M'Lord," he declared, shifting closer with blades in hand.

I could barely keep myself from squeeeing out loud. This was a lifelong dream come to fruition; I had wanted magic powers since I was three years old and now, for a few seconds, I would have them. I was no wizard; the Brainopedia gave me descriptions of all the spells, but I couldn't cast them. But this...this was different. The power of the Candle said that it "allows its owner to cast a Gate spell." No restrictions, no "as long as he's already a spellcaster." Nope, this was so wide open that even an interdimensional tourist like me could do it.

I opened the lantern and picked up the match the Holy Brother had been polite enough to provide with it. Flobovians called them 'tindertwigs', but they were still a stick of wood that burst into flame when you rubbed it on something rough. If it quacks like a duck...

Hands shaking with excitement, I struck the match on the purpose-built rough edge of the lantern and touched the flame to the wick of the Candle of Infinite Exploitableness.

The moment the wick flared alight, I felt something like sun-sparkles slip into my mind. It wasn't visible or audible, it was just energy with no form. There was no sense of intelligence or awareness to it yet it was clearly expectant, waiting for direction. Before I could even formulate the thought, it seized upon my intent and surged into me and through me, a river of shining green light that bore knowledge on its surface. For a split second, I understood it all perfectly—the true fundamental nature of the multiverse and the barriers that divided each plane from each other; the relationship and correspondence of all the planes; the manner in which small extradimensional spaces could be formed within a plane, like a soap bubble blown off the wall of reality. All of it was there, and I laughed in wonder at the beauty, the elegance, and, above all, the simplicity of manipulating it. There was nothing magic about it; it was no more supernatural than an electric light. Electrons making vacuum-sealed tungsten shed photons was no more or less difficult, when you came right down to it, than unstitching all of reality...all it took was a deep understanding of the principles and a little energy applied in exactly the right way.

I took hold of reality and paced across the floor, unzipping the walls of the universe as I went. When I had a slit twenty feet long I tugged on it until the edges of reality rolled up like window blinds, leaving a circle twenty feet across hanging in the air. The edges were limned in tongues of black and gold fire and a brilliant emerald light poured from the hole I had opened in space and time.

Stepping back, I laughed again at how simple it all was. " _Gate_ ," I said, the pitch and tone of my voice vibrating the fabric of reality in a carefully calculated harmonic that fed on itself, building up and up until it became strong enough to flip the covers of existence back and pull a creature from another world into this one. "Noble Djinn," I declared, telling reality how I wanted it to be. This was an exploit in and of itself; the spell said that it could summon a 'type of creature'. Summoning "a djinn who happens to be a noble" could be interpreted as outside of that ability but noble djinn had an entry unto themselves in the lists of elementals so, by a very technical definition, they were a separate type and were therefore summonable.

As I spoke, the knowledge vanished. I remembered remembering it, I knew that a moment ago I had understood the underpinnings of existence and how to bend and shape them as I wished. Despite that, it was all gone and the world was just as opaque as it had ever been. I gasped in physical pain; that remembered understanding, deep knowledge, comprehension...it had been like the joy I felt when I put on the Headband, but a million times more powerful. Without it, the world felt cold and dark and I was horribly, horribly alone. I wailed in misery at the loss.

Fortunately, I didn't have long to wallow in my sadness; only a moment after I cast the spell, a giant figure stepped out of the hole I had opened in reality.

"I AM SUMMONED," it boomed. It was the embodiment of an archetype; ten feet tall, the upper body of a swarthy man with an impossibly powerful physique, and a lower body that was a swirl of smoke. The djinni wore a sapphire-encrusted golden armband on each arm and on his head he had a turban capped with a plain gold circlet.

"WHO SUMMONS ALAROS, DUKE OF SEVEN WINDS?" the thing thundered; I swear the walls actually shook.

"I did. I summoned you, Your Grace," I choked out, wiping a tear out of my eye and clearing my throat to get rid of the lump. "As your summoner, I have the right to command you to perform services. But I'm not going to. I want to offer you an opportunity; take it and we both benefit. Refuse, and you can go back to your own plane and I'll give some other djinni the benefit." That was a bit of a bluff; I only had the one Candle, and I wasn't sure that Jason would be able to give me more. I judged it worth it; the improved probability of success given a willing djinni as my Wish-granter outweighed the possibility he might say no. Plus, I could always compel him later if I had to.

Alaros raised an eyebrow and folded his arms. "I'M LISTENING," he boomed, his words bouncing strangely off the wooden walls of the temple.

I rubbed my ear in pain, and considered asking the Duke if he could please use his inside voice. A moment's reflection suggested that it wouldn't be the wisest possible choice.

"You have the power to grant three Wishes to your summoner...but no djinni can grant a Wish to another djinni. You have this power, but you can never benefit from it yourself...unless you deal with me. I'll give you the benefit of two of the Wishes, in exchange for some considerations."

Duke Alaros's eyebrows shot up in amazement. "Few mortals think to make this offer, human. Name your considerations." I noticed the boom was gone, which was great news for my progressive hearing loss.

"Simple: you agree that all agreements between us, including this one and the Wish that I will use for myself, will be observed in spirit as well as in letter and that any ambiguities, interpretations, and / or choices shall be resolved in the manner most favorable to me. I Wish first, and I need to be satisfied by the results of my Wish or you don't get your own Wishes."

Alaros's thunderous laugh rolled across the room. "Ah, mortal. You would deprive me of all the fun!"

I shrugged. "If you want two Wishes for yourself, you agree not to mess with mine. Take it or leave it; I'm sure there are other djinn who would love to make this deal."

He laughed again. "A bargain struck, little mortal! Make your Wish."

I took a deep breath and formulated my wording carefully. The creature in front of me was Good, so it wouldn't try to outright kill or maim me...but it was also Chaotic, so it might not be able to resist working around our bargain. After all, it had freely admitted that mucking with Wishes was fun.

"There is a magic item in the Dungeons and Dragons magic items list named 'Ring of Three Wishes'. I visualize it as a ring made of adamantite which resizes itself to fit its wearer securely so that it will not fall off but can be removed easily when so desired. In my visualization, there are three rubies inlaid into the band. The rubies cannot be harmed while attached to the band but can be removed and crushed in order to activate them. Even when removed, the rubies cannot be damaged by accident but can be crushed easily and harmlessly between the fingers when desired. When activated, each ruby grants the wearer of the ring a Wish."

Alaros was smiling, arms crossed on his chest. I could practically see the sneaky thoughts moving through his head.

I took a deep breath and enunciated carefully for this last part. "My Wish is that you grant me the result of a Wish phrased such that you are required to grant me the afore-described Ring of Three Wishes in a manner that accords with my implicit as well as explicit desires regarding the ownership of the Ring, the function and nature of the Ring, and all other aspects and subjects related to my Wish, with the results of said Wish to be as or more beneficial to me as any Wishes I make at your behest with my two remaining Wishes."

"YOUR WISH IS GRA—" Alaros began in delight, before pausing. Looking up, he started mumbling to himself, occasionally making little back-and-forth gestures with his fingers.

After a few seconds, he winced. "Hang on, I need to write this down. Can you say that again?" He conjured parchment and quill from nowhere and floated down until he could lean over and put his parchment on the floor. I repeated my Wish word for word and he scribbled it down as I went, the tip of his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth as he wrote.

When I finished he started mumbling the Wish to himself. "Result of a Wish...recursive structure, ok. So phrased...requirement to determine the wording myself. Required to grant...implicit as well as explicit...all aspects and subjects...as or more beneficial..." He stopped, looking up and thinking, still mumbling to himself but too softly for me to make it out.

Finally he frowned thunderously and looked back at me with a disgusted twist of his lips.

"Fine, mortal, it's not worth the trouble. Have your Ring," he grumbled. With a magician's pass, he produced a metal ring and tossed it to me. What was a ring for him was more of a wristband for me, but when I slipped it on my finger it shrank to fit perfectly.

"Thank you, Your Grace. Now, what Wishes would you like to have granted?"

He harumphed. "Two of those rings of yours."

I smiled. "They really are the best choice, aren't they? Here you go: for my second Wish, I Wish for a magical ring identical in form and function to the one currently on my finger, so long as the ring on my finger precisely matches the form and function of the Ring of Three Wishes that I Wished for with my first Wish. For my third Wish, I wish for a magical ring identical in form and function to the one currently on my finger, so long as the ring on my finger precisely matches the form and function of the Ring of Three Wishes that I Wished for with my first Wish."

He pulled the rings out of the air and handed them to me. "Here. You Wished for them, you get them." He eyed me with a distrustful look, clearly expecting me to cheat him and keep the rings for myself.

I bowed and handed the rings back to him. "Your Grace, won't you please accept these two rings as a token of my appreciation for your assistance?"

He seemed pleased, but clearly startled that I had actually kept faith. Slipping the rings over his hands, he allowed them to tighten securely around his wrists. "For some reason, I always feel better with bracelets on," he commented amiably before flipping me a casual three-fingered wave. "Been a pleasure working for you, mortal. Enjoy your Wishes." There was a slight snicker in his voice when he said the last, so subtle I almost didn't catch it. Before I could inquire, he turned completely to smoke and was rapidly sucked backwards into a tiny gray ball which promptly popped, presumably returning him to his home reality.

"Mwahahahaha," I cackled, stroking the ring on my finger lovingly. "Yess, my preciousss...infinite Wishes are mine! Mwahahaha!" I stretched out expansively, twisting into the classic bodybuilder pose and clenching my muscles with a grunted "Huuuuunnnhhhhh!" (It was not nearly as impressive as when the Governator does it.) " _Infinite Cosmic Power_! And no itty-bitty living space, either!"

Thomas was starting to look more than slightly concerned for my sanity.

It took a good minute before I could bring myself to stop drooling over the metaphorical meal and start metaphorically eating it. (Which was, perhaps, a terrible metaphor when discussing a ring made of metal far harder than steel. Although, dentistry here was pretty phenomenal. Meh, whatever.)

Three Wishes remaining.

I extracted the first ruby from the band, crushed it between my fingers, and allowed the fine red dust to drift to the floor. "I Wish to have, in my left hand, a Ring of Three Wishes that is identical in form and function to the one on my finger, with the exception that the new Ring shall have all three rubies in it."

Five Wishes remaining.

The other two rubies went the way of the first and soon I had three adamantine Rings of Three Wishes clinking in my hand.

Nine Wishes remaining. I cackled gleefully and, tucking the now-expended Ring into a pocket of my jeans, I slipped one of the others on my finger.

The world froze around me. Lightning flashed, thunder cracked like two bullet trains slamming head-on into each other and I went flying back to slam into the wooden wall of the temple. When my eyes cleared I was suspended five feet off the floor by a very tall woman who had her hand clamped under my jaw. And by tall I mean 'Duke Alaros would need stilts to dance with her.' If I had to guess, I'd say she was in her early forties; she was rangy and weatherbeaten, with laughlines around her eyes and mouth that said she smiled easily and often. She certainly wasn't smiling now; her eyes were literally flashing, tiny sparks leaping out of them. The air around her crackled like an imminent thunderstorm, and the air reeked of ozone.

So, the thing about being held up by your neck: it's really uncomfortable. She wasn't closing off my airway, she just had her fingers jammed up under my lower jaw. Despite this generosity, I really wished she would put me down.

" **How** ** _dare_** **you, mortal? How dare you stretch beyond the bounds? How dare you reach for divinity?!"** Her voice was like red hot icepicks being rammed into my skull; I screamed and pressed my hands to my ears, trying to block out the agonizing echoes, but they were inside my head now and had to simply be endured.

"I...I wasn't...what bounds? I wasn't trying to be a god, I just wanted some Wishes." I was too rattled by her terrifying presence to think straight, to fully grasp what was happening. What was she talking about? What 'bounds'? Just to add to the fun quotient, I could see all the Landguard stuck in freeze-frame again, which meant this was probably another bloody god. Really unfair thing about gods; they don't feel a need to let you keep your bodyguard with you.

"Hang on there a second, Illy," Harlequin put in from where he lounged, upside down and unsupported, on the wall next to me.

She transferred her gaze from me to him and frowned even deeper. When she finally spoke, her voice was more of a sigh, much like the exasperated tone of an older sister to her obnoxious younger brother. "I told you not to call me that. What do you want, Wilgam? And turn around."

He spun 'round on his center of mass like a pinwheel, not touching the wall or changing his posture at all. When he was right-side-up, his shirt and hair fell upwards. He pulled the shirt back down and held it with one hand while conjuring a pipe with the other and blowing bubbles out of it.

"Good to see you, cuz," Trickster offered insouciantly. "Oh, I'm going by Loki around the kid; that was one of my more successful names in his world. Anyway, I've kinda got this deal on with him, and I'd really appreciate it if you could hold off on snapping him in half until he's paid off his debt to me."

She glared at him for a moment, then folded her arms across her chest. I plummeted to the ground, landing hard and twisting my ankle.

"His breaking of the Edict supercedes your claim," she announced with the tone of a horse trader making an opening bid.

"Weeellllll, that's not _entirely_ clear, now is it? The Edict originally came down from Shailos, and you know what a stickler he is for that whole 'fairness' and 'honor' thing." Jumping to his feet, he grew to match her height so that he could throw an arm around her shoulders, shaking his head in dismay. She shook it off but he affected not to notice. "I mean, sure, you and I might think Shailos is a bit cracked for caring about that stuff, but it's what he's into, so we should probably factor it in. And the mortals don't even remember the Edict. Remember, they're just mayflies; a century sees entire generations dead and buried, and it's been over _sixty_ centuries since Shailos handed down the Edict. He would say that, if they don't know about it, it's not 'fair'"—he actually did the air quotes—"to punish them for breaking it. At least, not kill-you or torture-your-soul-forever kinds of punishments."

She got a sour face on her look, the universal expression that means 'I know you're right and I don't want to admit it.' "Why do you care, Loki? If Shailos wants me to forgive the little rodent, let Shailos come and say so, no need for you to stick your nose into a perfectly simple offense," she grumbled. Things were definitely looking up; 'grumbling' was about ten thousand times more awesome than ' _Special Attack: Wave Motion Eyeball Cannons of Nuclear Rage!_ '

Loki pretended to consider that. "Hmm...yeah, that's not a bad way to look at it," he said thoughtfully. My eyes got big as my champion appeared to desert me, but I wasn't about to draw attention by moving, or talking, or breathing.

Loki's smile suddenly got cruel, and little devil horns popped out of his head. "Of course...there's punishments and punishments. I mean, sure, you could just tear his arms off and erase his existence from the fundamental fabric of reality as a warning to others. A little declassé, but you could do it." He shrugged and sniffed, the very picture of a refined gentleman considering the words of a backwoods bumpkin. "It would be over quick and you could get back to whatever you were doing. Wouldn't really have that much effect on the others, though. Hardly any of them would see it or hear about it more than third hand. It wouldn't seem real to them and it probably wouldn't prevent the next idiot from trying the same 'infinite Wishes' thing. Then we'd have to be back here shredding _his_ soul too, and that just gets tedious after a while. Work, work, work. I mean, really—if Shailos wants to go around pontificating and handing down Edicts, why doesn't _he_ enforce them ? Why do _we_ have to do all the work?"

He looked at her frankly, spreading his arms in justifiable exasperation with whoever this Shailos was. She nodded and started talking with her hands. "Seriously! He's just gotten way too big for his robes this past millenium or so! Can you believe what he's got them calling him these days? 'The True God!' Honestly, could you get more arrogant?!"

Loki nodded seriously. "Preach it, sister. He always has been a bit of a cheese-brain. This is exactly the kind of thing I'd expect from him, this whole 'True this' and 'True that' and 'Ilara and Loki aren't real' and blah blah blah. Arrogant little punk. I remember him back when he was just joining the pantheon." He grimaced. "Things have changed a bit since then, haven't they?" He shook his head regretfully and she nodded rueful agreement.

"You know, screw Shailos," Loki snarled. "Screw him and his precious Edicts. I'm not doing his grunt work any more! I'm not going to waste my time burning books, erasing memories, punishing random mortals, and on and on and on. What does he think we are, his lap dogs? Forget this, I'm going off to Deklos for a drink." He turned and started to walk away, then looked back over his shoulder. "Hey, you want to join me? There's this little hole-in-the-wall down on the docks; pretty skeezy neighborhood, but I swear, the owner is the best brewer on this planet." He grinned. "And who knows? We might find some mortals looking for trouble. That's always fun. What do you say, O Goddess of Travel—want to take a quick trip with me? I'm dying to hear what you're doing these days; rumor has it that you've come up with some great refinements for spreading the faith."

He threw a companionable arm over her shoulders, subtly turning her away from me. The two of them walked off, chatting amiably as they faded slowly away. Just before they vanished completely, Loki threw a glance back at me and winked.

The time freeze was still in place, but it would only last a few more seconds. I pulled two rubies out of the first ring, all three out of the second, and started Wishing as fast as I could.

"I Wish I were smarter."

"I Wish I were smarter."

"I Wish I were smarter."

"I Wish I were smarter."

"I Wish I were smarter."

The wave hit, hard. And suddenly, things that I had been missing clicked together into a terrifying whole.

* * *

 _ **Note for D &D rules pedants, everyone else may skip this:**_ _I took a small liberty with Jake's Wishing for more Wishes by not dealing with the XP issue. There's a trivial fix (Wish for Rings that have extra XP in them) and it wasn't worth the extra complication to deal with it in the text. (Also, I didn't realize that this was an issue until a reviewer pointed it out. But it still wasn't worth dealing with in the text.)_

 _Full answer with all the fussbudgety details:_

 _Using Wish to create a magic item requires that you burn XP to pay for the item you are creating. Since Jake has no XP of his own, the XP would need to have come from the Ring. Rings of Three Wishes do not, by default, come with extra XP to pay for item creation. Ok, but he could wish for a Ring that had extra XP, right? Yes, but then when he used that Ring to create another Ring, he would need to burn more XP from the first one to pay for the XP in the second one, plus the basic cost of the new Ring itself. The second generation of Rings would therefore have fewer XP imbued into it than the first, the third would have fewer than the second, and so on. You couldn't actually create infinite Rings of Three Wishes this way._

 _If you are sufficiently pedantic to be bothered by this, just assume that Jake actually made the following Wishes: For the first Ring he said "I Wish for a Ring of Three Wishes that contains Graham's Number of extra XP." For all following Rings he said: "I wish for a Ring of Three Wishes containing the maximum amount of extra XP that I can get for a total cost of one third of the XP originally imbued in my current Ring."_

 _Graham's Number is ridiculously, insanely, mind-bogglingly huge (check Wikipedia), and creating a Ring of Three Wishes only requires 36,836 XP (base cost) plus the extra XP you want to put in it. If you started with Graham's number of XP and you wished for another Ring every second, you would die of old age long before you had made an appreciable dent in the XP you started with...even if you were a dragon or some other stupidly-long-lived race. Then your children and grandchildren could do the same thing until they either died of old age or got tired of making these Wishes and went out for pizza. This is close enough to "infinite" for any practical purposes._

* * *

 _ **Note for math pedants:**_ _Yes, I know that it should be "Graham's number", not "Graham's Number". It was easier to read this way._


	27. chapter 27

_**Author's Note**_ _: D &D? Not mine._

 _ **Potential trigger warning:**_ _There is some mild self-harm in this chapter, but no permanent damage. It happens due to unusual circumstances (the intelligence boost); it's not an ongoing behavior and is unlikely to ever be repeated._

* * *

"...I Wish I were smarter," I gasped for the fifth time, struggling to get the words out before time resumed.

The wave hit me, far harder than last time, but I was confident. Now that I'd been through it once, I had techniques in place for managing the experience of having my brain yanked open and extra neurons jammed in, or whatever it was that this magical intellect-expansion did. Also, the increased brainpower that I had obtained from the Earring of Intellect gave me more processing power and more storage to help manage the flood of _new_ intellect.

Oh boy, was I ever wrong.

I fought with the experience, struggling to master my new mind _(mentation (mentality (mentat (eyebrows) (sapho juice) (desert (dessert (chocolate)) (Eagle) (island (Gilligan))))))_ quickly _(quick like a bunny (Playboy bunny) (bunnies are fast (I hate fasting (I hate eating fast food (eating swiftly (a modest proposal (indeed (in deed (and in word (of mouth (of hell)) (of the day (night hour minute second (time (is fleeting (fleet of ships (of Theseus) (of fools (in motley (crue (crewcut (cut(up (standup (for your rights))) (down not across))))))))))))))))))))—_

I yanked my thoughts sideways from their useless wheel-spinning _(James Dean chicken fight (no bullets))_ and into more productive _(production (capacity (carrying capacity (total life support)))_ channels. For too long now, I'd been having all these odd feelings, this sense that I was missing something. What had caused tha— _ **(**BOOM!**)**_ The whole answer unshattered into my mind, painting itself on my mind's eye for a nanosecond before the chaotic tumble of my new brain disintegrated it into monatomic dust _(dirt (mop (mom (moan (mine (mane (male (mal (captain (firefly (glowworm (ladybug (spots (shell) (spot (dog (cat (snake (ferret))))))))))))))))))_ —

I roared in fury at my runaway _(out of control (panel (of judges)))_ brain as it snatched the answer away from me before I could properly see _(taste (touch (smell (stink (stunk (stank (tank (water) (armored)) (to high Heaven (Hell (Purgatory (Dante Alighieri))))) (skunk (spray (can (tagging (vandal (Savage (Justice League (immortal (there can be only one! (crappy unskilled swordplay))))) (Visigoth) (Rome (wasn't built in a day))) (RFID (privacy (Faraday cage)))) (try (do or do not))))))) (good)) (grownup time)))_ it and punched the wooden floor, hard, over and over, matching bone and sinew against knotty oak in an effort to pull myself out of the mental tsunami. My knuckles split, blood spattered everywhere, but I tried to shut everything out and just focus on the pain _Payne-pine-(scent | tree | away)—_ Damnit, I almost had it there and then it slipped _(sliding away ((over yonder) (in a manger (manager (Rob (codemonkey (Coulton (coltan (Terminator (Summer (time) Glau (glow (worm (Wormtail (Wormtongue (speak in tongues (of flame (fire (starter (motor)) (pit) (place) (wood) (force to resign (re-sign (refinance (finance (bankrupt (morally bankrupt (politician (politics) (polity (Athens (Sparta (Thermopylae (thermopile (piles (medicine (cure (curare (Amazon (Diana Prince(ess) (of England (for England (plant the flag (rainbow flag))))))))))) (Leonidas (300 (Xerxes (Persia (Ottoman (hassock (priest (hole (Prohibition (rumrunner)) (abolition)) (Bible) (altar boy) (choir (preaching to)))) Empire (Genghis Khan (Mongols (Mongolia(n food (grill)))))))))))))))) (Social Security) (savings and loan) (auto industry (Japan) (electric car (Elon Musk (SpaceX (hope) (future) (inspiration)))))))))) (Johnny Paycheck) (away (hit me with your best shot (Joan (leaving on a)Jett plane))))))))))))))))))))—_

Snarling in rage and fear and frustration, I reared up and slammed my head into the wall, trying to smash out the madness that was searing my brain, club the craziness unconscious against the elegant carvings of the Temple of Ilara. My forehead split, blood gushed into my eyes, and I heard my nose break. For a split second, everything whited out in a blinding flash of sensation too intense to be called merely pain. When it faded, I was left with stars dancing before my eyes blocking my entire field of vision. Agony split whatever part of my skull wasn't already cracked, knocking me down and leaving me curled up in a whimpering fetal ball. It was an acceptable price. What mattered was that the pain and blood did their job: they shocked my brain quiet for just a moment, giving me one precious instant of stillness inside my poor battered skull to shore up my defenses before the tidal bore of enhancement slammed over me again.

When the runaway word associations ( _homeowners, Computing Machinery, American Medical_ ) and spinning imagery ( _I was burnt (toast (and eggs (and bacon (generator (Plaza)))))) to death, bits breaking off as Thomas carried my dead bodies of the tens of thousands I had pulverized, shattered, shredded, flayed_ ) hit, I forced them aside, clinging to one thought. _~I_ _ **must**_ _have this under control before the Landguard unfreeze! Can't let them know, can't let it show, can't let them see (sense (sensory (extrasensory (extraterrestrial (inhuman (inorganic (chemistry) (synthetic (fibres) (intelligence) (synthesis (homeostasis (homophone (homophobe (heliophobe (heliophile (hemophiliac_ _ **~NO! THIS IS MY MIND AND YOU WILL STOP!~**_ _))))))))))))))_ I didn't even know who I was screaming at, here in the dark cavern _(cave (of Plato))_ of my thoughts. Perhaps noone, _(nothing (null (none (nonesuch_ _ **~NO!~**_ _))))_ perhaps I just needed to engage the fight / flight circuits _(transistors (vacuum tubes_ _ **~NO!~**_ _))_ to bring all the parts of my mind together and focus _(foci (parallel (parallax_ _ **~NO!~**_ _)))_ on an imagined enemy _(antagonist (nemesis (foe (fie fee fum_ _ **~NO!~**_ _))))_ that represented the runaway processes of my id _((ego (superego)) (freudian symbology_ _ **~NO! FOCUS!~**_ _))_

I felt hands on me, rolling me over. I lashed out, thrashing with fists and feet at whomever, whatever it was _(were (we (we're (where (wear (were-bear (can't bear it_ _ **~STOP! FOCUS!~**_ _)))))))_ that was touching me. Between the stars and the blood in my eyes, I couldn't see anything, but I wasn't ready _(willing and able)_ to face _(visage (vision (envision_ _ **~NO! FOCUS!~**_ _)))_ the world _(planet (earth (terra (terabyte (terrible bite (tribble bite_ _ **~STOP! STAY FOCUSED~**_ _))))))_.

My arms were grabbed and forcibly pinned to the floor above my head _(skull (cabeza (cabbage (kimchee (in deep (dire (wolf) (dark (dank_ _ **~STOP!~**_ _)))))))_. I needed to focus, I had been wrong, this was so much harder than the first time, I had pushed too far, too hard _(diamond is a 10 on the Mohs scale),_ too fast, too soon, too much _(of a good Thing (It's Clobberin' time! (it runs so fast) (time time, see what's become of me (madman (in a box) (wound too tight (three sheets (not halyards (haul yards (of beer) (to mow))) to the wind(s of fate (no fate but what we make (Maker Faire) (Ah-nold (I'll be bohk)))) (from the north-north-west for now, but surely I can find a hawk (hunting (bear) (wolf (in sheep's clothing) (masher))) and a handsaw (powersaw (powerdrill (bit (dentist)))) somewhere somewhen? (NeverWhere, NeverNever (Gaiman Butcher) (Fae (Summer) (Winter (it's a crazy shade of winter) (Queen (Bohemian Rhapsody)) (Soldier (Captain America (Bucky (buck up)))) (time) (court of the Fae (Summer) (Winter (it's a crazy_ _ **~STOP!~**_ _)))))))))))))_ , my mind wasn't meant to be this large, contain this much, move this fast, I was like a computer _((laptop) (desktop) (machine) (box) (server) (embedded system (firmware (firm aware (AI (FAI (Singularity)))) (wetware (meatware) (wet work)))))_ that someone had modded _(modified (enhanced (overclocked)))_ to make it go faster, but it also generated more heat _((of the blood) (final waste state of energy (drinks (for the lady, on me)) after entropy finished playing (hopscotch (children (playground (monkey bars (monkey cage (fights, big ticket draw but piss off PETA)))))) with its food like a_ _ **~STOP!~**_ _))_.

"Let him go, it's making it worse! Back off, everyone!" The hands _(of time (Lord (Ten, definitely Ten) (Run!) (Rose(s are red, violets are blue, I turned my brain to pudding and so can you))))_ pulled away, leaving me free to thrash for a moment longer and then curl back into my fetal ball again, screaming and clutching my head where the fire and the molten lead and the snowbats and the gazelles leapt and soared and drank majorly mossy mojitos at midnight while decisively devising derisive disparagements to awkward awks that purled pearls and gulped and guzzled gravitas-greedy Greek glass grass glider pumpkin popping punks as they gyred and japed at jalapeno bicycles—

"Bob, put him out!" shouted a voice that I vaguely remembered...a man? Human? Something...

Someone muttered and I slept.

o-o-o-o

I awoke suddenly, but managed to keep still and keep my eyes closed while I figured out where I was. The surface under me was familiar—soft, satin sheets, pillows, clearly my own bed. I heard faint noises of people nearby, slight metallic noises that were probably armor clinking as the wearers shifted their weight. Back in my own room, then. And, as always, surrounded by Landguard.

While I slept, my mind had managed to integrate itself. There was no more overpowering rush of associations / sensations / memories, just cool stillness and a feeling of power ready to my hand, straining to be used, like being at the controls of a heavily armed fly-by-wire jet fighter. Nothing hurt, so presumably I had been the beneficiary of their healing paladin hands—or perhaps a Landguard cleric had used regular healing magic. Whatever. My nose was no longer broken, my ankle didn't hurt, there was nothing to distract me.

Best of all, they thought I was still asleep, so I had some time to think.

I had wanted to get the extra brainpower without the Landguard knowing about it; there were too many strange things that I noticed from the corner of my mental eye lately. I needed an edge, something no one else knew about, that would let me figure out what was happening. In the meantime, I would need an explanation for why I was seizing back at the temple. A moment's consideration gave me one: the encounter with Ilara.

Eyes still closed, being careful not to change my breathing, I scrolled back through my memories, looking for that flash of insight I had had.

It was gone. Completely and utterly.

 _~Fine. I figured it out once, I'll do it again. I'll just have to do it the hard way,~_ I growled to myself. Painstakingly, I started flipping through everything I remembered, moving farther and farther back in time, trying to isolate the moments when something seemed odd.

There were a lot of them.

 _It was rather like having all of Delta Force escort the head of the high school Dungeons and Dragons club to homecoming._

 _I started having flashbacks to high school, being the twiggy nerd that suddenly found himself surrounded by all the football jocks._

 _A dagger appeared in Thomas's free hand, the point about a nanometer from my eyeball...and I started pondering the quality and sharpness of the dagger, not the fact that he was about to kill me._

 _Loki appeared before me and some small corner of my mind muttered ~I'm not terrified. How odd.~_

 _That little voice in the back of my head said ~Do not taunt Happy Fun Trickster God, for he is subtle and quick to zot.~ I ignored it._

 _Loki shrugged and grinned, not bothered in the slightest. "Hey, slapstick is a time-honored tradition in humor. Just ask the Stooges." I frowned. "The who?"_

 _I wasn't actually afraid of who- or whatever this was, but a significant degree of caution seemed called for around anything that could suddenly appear in the middle of my magically shielded bedroom in the middle of my heavily defended castle while putting my highly lethal bodyguard into a literal time out._

 _Olivia had just a trace of an accent that stretched the 'o's out and put the emphasis on odd silly bobbles; I kept trying to figure out what it reminded me of, and it was driving me crazy that I couldn't._ And yet, my memory was so good that I could re-experience the taste of a specific cheese at will, as I well remembered.

 _Experimentally, I reached for some of my farther-back memories for details from years ago. I needed something highly precise, like the taste of the cheese that Suze had served me for supper on my first day...now that I thought about it, yes, I could relive that cheese in all its delicious glory. Just like I could remember the exact stippling on the cannon we hid behind at the test shoot, from where fragments of the failed cannon had slammed into it._ The memories were precise, but none of them were from before I came to Flobovia, much less from "years ago."

A quick review showed lots of times when I had had thoughts from my own world, but none of them were personal. Occasional pop culture references, physics, chemistry...but nothing about my life, or my family. Even the ones that were only glancingly related to my life—like the idea of a Dungeons and Dragons club, as opposed to simply remembering the game existed—felt strange, wrong somehow. _~Hypothesis: something is blocking my ability to access personal memories.~_

No, wait, there were some.

 _...goodbye keep waving until we're out of sight what a wonderful Christmas I love that house it's so warm and cozy and beautful and everything is so tasteful..._

 _...full of the taste of Thanksgiving: creamed spinach and pearled onions and squash and cranberry sauce with the ridges they have the fresh stuff but I like the ridges and the turkey is a bit too dry and oh no I'm stuck next to Uncle Joe god he's boring oh well I'll manage..._

 _...a team of programmers my job to shield them from management so they can actually get work done and things are great with Bill but not so much with Anita even though she's got skills she's prickly and I try to smooth things over..._

 _...head compartments by me are full darnit I'll have to put my bag four seats back and that means waiting forever to get off the plane oh well whinging about it isn't helpful..._

 _...to everyone, that's just who she is, all the time Nellie is always helping someone but this isn't her dream job her dream job was to be a counselor although she's amazing where she works it's her dream but she doesn't want to do a Ph.D. and I can't blame her..._

 _...for any of it because I took her for granted and it's my own stupid fault..._

 _...lines in California are everywhere more of them than you can shake a stick at and it's kinda crazy living here and it's true it's like a bowl of granola lots of nuts and flakes..._

 _Hadn't Mr Strunk, my seventh grade English teacher, pounded the rule of "never use a long word where a diminutive one will fit" into me?_

Those were all actual, personal memories; did they invalidate the hypothesis? ...Perhaps. But they were all from one block of time, immediately after I put on the Headband of Intellect, when my brain would have been most scrambled, when I was actively sorting memories, and my intelligence and memory were artificially boosted.

Was I making excuses, attempting to rationalize a pet theory? Unclear. Tag this for later examination and continue.

 _With just a thought I could relive the experience of appearing in the Work Room, talking with Albrecht, eating cheese and fruit in the sitting room, meeting Allison, meeting the Conclave, my various sessions with Duncan...every moment clear, sharp._ Again, no personal memories there, nothing from before my kidnapping.

I noticed that the term 'kidnapping' felt uncomfortable. My brain kept trying to substitute 'arrival', but I wouldn't let it. Add that to the evidence list.

 _Seriously, in what weird-ass universe would someone tell you that your opponent had casually dropped a superspell in front of you...and then you just shrugged it off and went on with your day?_ In what universe _would_ that happen? Perhaps one in which the people in question didn't want me thinking too much about powerful, unfamiliar spells? I had already noticed that the Brainopedia was not complete and not always correct. There could be something I hadn't been told about that modified memory.

 _"I'm...not sure our duty allows us to surrender," Thomas said regretfully. "All of our military, and probably many of the regular citizens, would be drafted into their army and sent off to fight evil undead. All of those people are part of the Land, and them being sent to kill or be turned into monsters is not a fate we can permit." I shrugged. "Ok, good enough."_ Why had I accepted that so easily? It was clear that surrendering to Anundjå would be the best thing for the people of Flobovia, and probably for me personally. Why didn't I argue? That wasn't like me...I didn't think. I was pretty sure that I'd always been firm in my convictions.

I had more of these memories of oddness, but this seemed like a good enough sampling for now. Was there anything else that was really critical, that was qualitatively different from the ones I'd already viewed?

 _For a moment, I felt an instinctive desire to ask for advice from...someone..._ Perhaps a mentor? A teacher? Or... My brain lurched for a moment, like a car being dragged through the gears with no clutch. Perhaps I had wanted to ask advice from a parent? I reached for memories of my parents; there weren't any. None. Not a wisp. Their faces, their names, nothing. Ditto for siblings, grandparents, cousins...nothing. All of my memories of my family were _gone_. Ice cold lava began to trickle out of my heart, and I had to stop thinking for ten or twenty seconds and focus on keeping my breathing even, my muscles untensed. Remember, O Landguard protectors, jailors, traitors, I am still asleep. Stand your guard and notice nothing. Do not notice the hate that burns through me. Do not notice me planning your total destruction.

Was that fair? Were the Landguard definitely complicit? This had to have been done by magic, which almost certainly meant the Archmagi...or, maybe...could it be a side effect of the summoning spell, something intended to make it easier for the kidnapped ruler to be happy during his reign? Perhaps there was no conscious intent here at all, perhaps it wasn't even something the Flobovians knew about. Perhaps all my memories would be restored when I was sent home.

I spent ninety-three seconds running multiple predictive simulations in my head as to how likely it was that the Archmagi didn't know of this effect, or couldn't do anything about it and therefore chose not to mention it so as to ease my situation. Every single one of those scenarios said "snowball in hell."

 _~What about the Landguard? They aren't spellcasters, so maybe they weren't involved, or didn't understand what was being done. No, wait, apparently Bob can cast Sleep, so he's got some caster levels. Rob and Bob from Alpha Squad were introduced as "Healer Specialist", which probably means "cleric," and Mage Specialist, which probably means "wizard," so apparently some or all of the Landguard are multi-classed, which means they might well have known, or at least understood.~_ Hm. Was there anything that spoke to this issue, one way or the other?

 _"Thomas, whatever you think you remember, it's a lie. That isn't the way history really is. It's like some magic spell planted false memories in your head." Thomas flashed a glance at me, eyes wide, and then his expression vanished into his usual blank professional mask._

Son of a bitch. The bastard knew.

I sat and seethed, struggling not to throw myself off the bed and gouge Thomas's eyes out right then and there. _~There are three reasons not to do it,~_ I told myself coldly. _~and only one reason_ _ **to**_ _do it. Reasons why I should not: first, I probably couldn't; even without the other Landguard present, Thomas is more than a match for me physically. Second, it would make no difference; a strong enough cleric could use the Regenerate spell—_ A quick flip through the Brainopedia told me that yes, it really did exist as I remembered it from my long-ago Dungeons-and-Dragons-playing days. _—could use the Regenerate spell to restore Thomas's eyes, just as Duke Frederick's bones were flawlessly healed after I had Duncan crush them. Most important, however, is that it would tip my hand. Right now, they know what they did to me and I know what they did to me, but I also know that they don't know that I know what they did to me.~_

I considered all of that starkly, then forced myself to choke down the rage and finish the thought. _~That's three good reasons not to gouge Thomas's eyes out, and the only reason_ _ **to**_ _do it is that it would be very satisfying.~_

I frowned at that thought, but managed to keep the frown purely internal.

 _~It would be_ _ **satisfying**_ _to gouge a man's eyes out?~_ I considered that carefully. Would Suze find that satisfying? No. Would any of the Archmagi? Probably not. Duke Frederick?...most likely no. He was an arrogant jackass and a bully, but I'd seen no indications that he enjoyed causing pain.

Was 'finding the idea of maiming a fellow human satisfying', in fact, a normal thing? Would the average citizen in the street feel that way?

I had to consider that one. The provocation was quite extreme, of course; the Archmagi, Thomas, all of the Landguard in fact, has taken my entire _life_ away from me. And blinding, especially if it could be rendered permanent and un-healable, was the sort of punishment that would keep others in line so that more extreme measures were not required. It could be argued that burning out the eyes of one or two, or a couple dozen, would prevent the need to execute many others. Surely that was a moral good?

I thought about it. Carefully.

Eventually I came to the conclusion that I didn't know the answer. I wasn't too bothered by that...but what I **was** bothered by is that I wasn't bothered by not being able to judge a question of moral goodness.

 _~Was I always like this, or is this new, is this something they did to me?~_ I wondered. A quick flip through my memories answered the question pretty unambiguously.

 _~My second day here, I was so rattled by a Conclave meeting—a purely verbal confrontation—that Thomas had Duncan start working with me on 'confidence building'. I haven't felt fear since that night, my second night here. No, wait, that's not right. I did feel fear twice: when Loki exerted himself to terrify me, and when Ilara did it while holding me against the wall. In short, when I arriv—when I was kidnapped here, a Duke and some other glorified bureacrats were enough to frighten me, at least somewhat. After my second night, it required a literal_ _ **god**_ _to frighten me. A god who was explicitly_ _ **trying**_ _to frighten me.~_

 _~When I had Duncan attack Duke Frederick, I had to spend significant time psyching myself up, analyzing all the various possible outcomes of our interaction and mentally preparing for them. I remember thinking that my plan to crush old Freddy's hand was 'nothing I would have dreamed of in my own world.' Now I'm completely unfazed by the thought of gouging a man's eyes out?~_

 _~After I bombarded the Deorsi, I threw up. Earlier today I figured out how to annihilate their entire army in the span of a few seconds, and my only concern was that I needed to figure out how to do it without upsetting the Landguard.~_

 _~All things considered, I am going to have to say 'no, it is not normal for me that the idea of maiming someone fails to disturb my calm.'~_

So, what exactly did I know? Clearly, some magic had been used on me to rewire my brain—erase memories, remove my capacity for fear, make me more ruthless. It had almost certainly been done by the Archmagi—the original Archmagi: Isaac, Reynard, and Matthew, not the new Archmagi (whoever they were). What about my willingness to accept Thomas's assessment that we couldn't surrender?...was that a pre-programmed obedience to Thomas in particular, or a newly-installed desire to defend Flobovia (which was still a stupid name, damnit!), or something else?

Most importantly, of course—did I like these changes? Ruthlessnes and fearlessness were undoubtedly useful traits in the situation I currently faced. Even if I could find a way to go back to my old self, would I want to?

I thought about that one good and hard, and finally decided I did want to go back. Fear might be uncomfortable, but it existed for a reason—it was a primary survival mechanism. Lacking it made me more likely to die, which seemed like a highly suboptimal outcome. Ruthlessness was useful, but my orbital strike against the Deorsi, as well my ability to have Frederick's hand crushed, showed that my original self could be ruthless when he needed to be...he just had to choose to be. Also, it seemed to me that my old self had not had difficulty with moral judgements. Amorality was useful in the short term, but in the long term it interfered with the ability to have meaningful relationships with other humans. I remembered believing that those were important, back before my brain got stirred with a potato masher. I decided to trust my pre-modification judgement and continue thinking they were important, even though I wasn't one hundred percent certain why.

The means to undo this was obvious, but it left me with a dilemna; if any of the Landguard or the original Archmagi knew that I had broken their mind mojo, they would just put it back. I would need to find a pretext to be alone for a few minutes at some point soon, and that was going to be difficult, given how paranoid Thomas was being. And I had to get it right the first time; this wasn't a trick I could do more than once. (At least, not without a lot more preparation than seemed practical.)

Speaking of preparation, what about my remaining Wishes? I still had one Wish left from the first ring, and three left on the third ring. I knew what I had to do with the three; I would keep the one hidden as my reserve.

 _~I wonder if I could use a Wish to send myself home? And if I could, are there any magical items, monetary wealth, or special powers that I could bring with me? If I could use some of the Wishes to give myself Heal, or Prestidigitation, or Detect Thoughts, as an at-will special ability, I could write my own ticket back home. Shoot, go all the way and give myself Wish as a special ability. Except that might break that "no Wishing for more Wishes" Edict of 'The True God'.~_ Even in my thoughts I couldn't resist putting quotes and a slight sneer on the title. Shailos, as he was apparently named, was definitely more than a little egotistical.

And speaking of egotistical, I finally saw a way out of my current mess. It just relied on me being glib enough to convince Thomas to do something he was going to really, _really_ not want to do: give me a little space. Fortunately, I was pretty sure I knew how to do it. And I wouldn't even have to lie, which was important. It seemed very likely that Thomas or one of the magi was monitoring me for truthfulness in order to detect whether or not I had broken the mind-whammy. Hmm...how could I test that? Ah, of course.

So. Priorities: Kill original Archmagi. Kill Deorsi army if necessary. Mend fences with the Archpriest in order to prevent him from undermining my power or causing trouble that would be distracting. Prepare to have him killed if fences couldn't be mended. Undo mind whammy. Kill Landguard. Kill all family members of Landguard and original Archmagi so that I never had to have the "Hello, my name is Inigo Montoya" conversation.

I figured the first four I could probably get done today, but the rest would take a few days, and would probably need to be reordered. I would keep them as stretch goals, though. And I would have cake to celebrate if I got through that much of my todo list today.

With all the pieces in place, I stirred a bit as though just waking up, then sat up and stretched, faking a yawn. Immediately Thomas was at my side; the rest of the Landguard remained facing outwards. Always the consummate bodyguards, maintaining situational awareness at all times.

I took a moment to look at my protective detail. Thomas, Duncan, Alpha Squad—Robert, Rob, Bob, and Aerith—plus Franklin. Franklin was the only surprise; best guess, Thomas had been impressed enough with his contributions to the earlier war council that he had promoted the kid onto Alpha Squad. Of course all of them had steel in hand.

"Did someone get the license plate of that truck that hit me?" I asked. I chuckled and looked at Thomas, painting a smile on my face and shaking my head a bit with fake chagrin. "Hot tip: do not piss off a goddess. She didn't even have to hit me, her 'angry voice' was enough to scramble my brains but good." I grinned ruefully. It was true; Ilara's rage had left me terrified and nearly incoherent. On the other hand, it was also a misleading phrasing...and deliberately so.

Thomas swallowed it hook, line, and sinker. Good; if he _was_ the one with the lie-detector, it apparently didn't detect that my feelings and my words were out of alignment, or that I had phrased my words to give the false impression that Ilara had caused my seizure, not a secret flurry of intelligence-enhancing Wishes. If it didn't catch misleading statements then it probably wouldn't catch lies of omission either. I was going to need that leeway. Of course, it was also possible that it _wasn't_ Thomas who had the lie detector; it could have been another member of my bodyguard, or one of the magi. The latter seemed unlikely though; they would want me under full-time monitoring, and none of them were in the room.

"How are you feeling?" Thomas asked worriedly.

I shrugged. "I'm fine now. Whatever you guys did, all the damage is gone and I feel great. Also, sleeping seems to have jarred a few things loose; I have some ideas on how to handle the Deorsi. I'm pretty sure that I can get Albrecht to turn on his own people."

Thomas blinked at that, shocked. Several members of Alpha Squad turned around and gaped for just a moment before remembering their duty and snapping back to face out.

"How in the world can you do that?!" Thomas demanded incredulously.

I smiled, waggling a finger at him. "Ah ah ah. Don't ruin the surprise." I carefully stitched a pensive expression on my face. "I just wish I knew if Albrecht was truthful about everything he said. I think I know which parts were true and which weren't, but this whole idea hinges on it, and I can't be completely confident that I'm right."

Thomas responded without thinking. "He had some sort of mind blank magic in place, but his body language said that most of it was true. There were a couple of places where I wasn't sure, but I don't know the man well enough to be certain."

I nodded thoughtfully, ruthlessly surpressing my surge of delight at how easily Thomas had fallen for that. Set him up with a big shock, knock him down with a leading statement to draw out the fact that the lie detector existed.

I shrugged casually. "Well, doesn't matter. Either way, we'll make it work. We're going to need some help, though."

For several seconds Thomas kept gaping at me, mouth hanging open, still trying to process the hope that had flared when I said that maybe I could solve all this. Finally his jaw snapped shut and he blinked back into being the decisive leader. "Right. Who do you need?"

I made a pretense of thinking about it. "The three new Archmagi and previous-Archmage Isaac. Hm. A couple of cooks. Oh, and I need a tent. A big one. And some chairs."

He raised an eyebrow and then shrugged. "Franklin, go." Franklin was out the door like a shot.

I slipped off the bed and headed for the bathroom. "I need a shower," I tossed over my shoulder. "Apparently, getting knocked around by an angry goddess makes a guy sweaty."

The Landguard were trailing after me like ducklings following their mother. Just as expected.

I turned back to them, frowning. "Guys, look. I understand you need to protect me, but this is nuts. I need some privacy sometimes. I'm an introvert at heart; I get rattled and don't think as well if I don't have at least _some_ time to myself. Also, having someone in the shower with me is embarrassing. Wait here."

Every single one of their faces turned mulish and Thomas shook his head. "You cannot be left alone. So it is Writ. And even if it were not, I **will not** risk your life again."

I sighed. "Look, we're in the most heavily defended room of the most heavily defended building in the entire country. If I'm not safe here, then I'm not safe anywhere. Does the Writ say that you have to be _actually in the room with me_ at all times? If you stand here, and I'm ten feet away in the shower, within easy calling-for-help range, is that good enough?" I sighed again, and let a bit of wheedling leech into my tone. "Seriously, I need some space. Allison will be in there with me, so I won't be alone. And, to be honest, she's embarrassing enough. Cut me some slack here, ok?"

He pondered it, clearly struggling between his newly-escalated paranoia and his desire to keep me in peak form. Finally he came to a decision. "Fine," he said with an expression like he just bit a lemon. "But if anything even **remotely** strange happens, call us immediately."

I smiled, and this time I didn't have to force it. Sucker. "No problemo, amigo. Should so much as a mouse move incorrectly, there will be one very loud shrieking-for-help-like-a-little-girl Jake in that shower." I turned back to the bathroom door. "Come on, Allison, I'd really like to keep my 'man-grapes', as you call them, on the outside of my body." She laughed but left the fireplace and drifted after me through the air.

"Oh and, Thomas? Call a Conclave meeting for dinner time tonight. I need to eat some crow with the Archpriest." I vanished inside, looking forward to the bliss of hot water...albeit not so much to the embarrassment caused by a snarky fire elemental.

o-o-o-o

"This will work, right? You don't need to be familiar with the thing to use it as a Polymorph result?" I really hoped I was right or this was going to be very embarrassing. And I'd be very frustrated at the foiling of my assassination plan.

Isaac nodded his head portentously. "Correct, My Lord. The arcane matrix of a Polymorph Any Object spell is constructed using a Kafkan transformation field interleaved with a Delphic information-gathering matrix, similar to the one used for Scrying and related mystic constructs. The fields combine to form a proto-sentience that is capable of gathering the requisite datum or data required to satisfy the form provided by the field constructor regardless of—"

"Excellent! Isaac, you're a miracle worker," I told him, clapping him on the shoulder and giving a wide smile. Mostly to cut off the verbal mudslide, but also because I was honestly delighted. Seemed like this was going to work after all.

Isaac frowned at me. "I beg to differ, My Lord. Clerics," he sniffed disdainfully, "perform miracles, using the powers that are _gifted to them_ "—a derisive sniff—"by their gods. I am a wizard. We do not perform miracles, we alter the world through hard work informed by detailed research that gives us an unmatched understanding of the deep structure of mystic energies and—"

I hurried to cut him off again. "Of course, my apologies. Isaac, I have a very, very important task that needs to get done, and you're the best man for the job. I'd like you to—"

He cut me off in turn, his eyes drifting over my shoulder to where the new Archmagi waited a few yards away; his lip curled up in thinly veiled anger and contempt as he did. "Why would you ask me, My Lord? Wouldn't it be better to have one of these _new_ Archmagi handle whatever is so important? After all, aren't they now the best magi in the nation?" Isaac might be a fantastically powerful wizard, but he was craptastic at hiding his feelings. If looks could kill, the three new Archmagi would be smoking craters in the ground.

Come to think of it, when it comes to wizards, sometimes looks _could_ kill. I decided it might be a good time to wrap things up.

I glanced over my shoulder at the newbies and then leaned in close, whispering conspiratorially. "Them? Fah. They might have the levels, but they sure don't have the experience. They wouldn't be able to handle something this important. No, you're definitely the man for the job. This has to be kept absolutely secret. From everyone—the Deorsi could be magically spying on us right now. They could try to follow whoever I send and attack him. To work properly, they need to be surprised by this. If they are, it could end the war right there. Now, remind me, when something is hit with Polymorph Any Object like this, how long does it retain the new form?"

Isaac got that excited oh-good-I-get-to-lecture gleam in his eye as he started in. "The duration is a function of several variables, My Lord. The change in size, the change in type, the similarity between the source object and the product. The duration function consists of—"

"What's the shortest duration?" I hurriedly asked.

He sniffed slightly, irked at having his lecture cut short. "Even with the greatest divergence between source and product, the Kafkan field will sustain itself for at least twenty minutes, although I've been working on a theory—"

"Isaac, you're brilliant!" I told him, grinning like an idiot. "Twenty minutes is more than enough time." In point of fact a millisecond was more than enough time, but I needed to throw out some red herrings. "Ok, take this," I handed him a heavy bag and a piece of paper. (I had been delighted to discover that whatever magic translated my words also translated my writing. To have this all fall apart because of something as ridiculous as illiteracy would have been humiliating.)

"Read the paper," I told him, leaning in close and speaking intently to show how important this was. "but make sure you keep it covered while you do—can't let any spies see it. There's a location on it, and the name of what I want you to Polymorph this bag into. Teleport to that location and wait there until you get a Sending from me. When I contacted him an hour ago, Albrecht agreed to a parley. The location I'm sending you to is a little way away from the parley site. When the right moment comes, I'll use Sending to contact you. When you get it, cast the Polymorph Any Object on the bag and teleport away immediately. Ok? And remember—this deed will make your name live forever. It'll change the entire course of the parley, and it could potentially end the entire war, right then and there. And there's no one else I'd rather have to do this than you." I was being very careful not to lie; used differently, this could indeed have been enough to end the war. I just didn't intend to use it that way. And Isaac was definitely the person I most wanted to do this.

He drew himself a little straighter and puffed out his scrawny chest. "I won't let you down, My Lord!" Carefully holding the paper in his cupped hands he opened them just enough to read what was written. With a firm nod and something that was probably intended to be a salute, he said "Greater Teleport" and vanished.

I had my back to everyone else, so I allowed myself a cruel grin. I did in fact plan to eliminate the traits that had been forced on me, but sometimes ruthlessness and amorality were _so_ handy.

o-o-o-o

Twenty minutes later, I waited in a field near the southwest corner of the Senis Hills. To the north and east, there was about a mile of clear land and then the ground started to look weird. Some of it glowed, some of it looked like cottage cheese and, as I watched, some of it _got up and walked away._ Apparently there was a reason that no one went into the Senis Hills.

To the west loomed the Carrsian Mountain range, the source of the rivers that fed the Carr Fens. Even now, in mid-summer, some of the mountains were snow-capped. They stretched out of sight in both directions, like the spine of some enormous bluish-purple dragon. A mile or so to the south of our position lay a small forest. Not more than a mile long and only half that deep, but quite scenic. This was a lovely spot; I was glad we'd managed to pick it off the low-quality Flobovian maps.

With a soft pop! Albrecht and his bodyguard appeared a few hundred yards away. He was smiling widely and looking as ebullient as ever, but his bodyguard were about as comfortable as a herd of cats in a dog pound. A dog pound for military attack dogs. Giant ones. With rabies.

Albrecht closed the distance with a jaunty step, enthusiasm almost visibly dragging his grumpy-looking companions after him.

He came right up to me and was reaching for my hand with both of his own, clearly intending to shake with great vigor and delight. He was cut off, however, when Thomas and Duncan took a half step forward on either side of me. They made the move look less hostile by bowing, but their eyes stayed fixed on the Anundjåns. Kadja immediately stepped in front of Albrecht, hands resting oh-so-casually near the hilts of her weapons.

Albrecht met my gaze and we both rolled our eyes at the paranoia of our respective protectors.

Fortunately, I had fully expected this and had my counter ready. "High Marshal, I offer you parley and peacebond. I swear on my honor and the honor of Flobovia"—I winced a little at the way the name ruined the gravitas of my speech—"that no one here, nor anyone over whom I have authority, shall offer harm to your or your companions for the duration of our parley and one hour afterwards, contingent on you swearing the same. Do you?"

He was nodding almost before I finished. "Of course. I swear the same oath in return. Let there be parley and peacebond." His eyes flicked over the people behind me. "Let's see, Commander Thomas I'm familiar with, of course. And this must be the inimitable Sergeant Duncan Maklud; surely there can be only one to match that glower! Your reputation precedes you sir. Quite a few of my men have had nightmares about meeting you on the field again, after the drubbing you gave us at the Plaza. I hope there are no hard feelings?" He seemed sincerely concerned.

Duncan grunted, glaring at Albrecht's bodyguard.

Albrecht evidentally took that as agreement, because his smile never slipped as he turned to the rest of my companions. "Hm, let's see. This must be the famed and feared Alpha Squad themselves—Sergeant Greenlake, Healer Specialist Davidson, Mage Specialist Guardson, and Guardian-First Aerith, yes? I believe you go by Robert, Rob, and Bob respectively, is that right? If you'll forgive me, it must be terribly inconvenient having three men in the same squad who all share a name. I salute you for managing, as well as for your well-known martial skills. The stories of your performance at Landguard intake have been tremendous! I've had a bard reciting them at dinner the last week; several of my commanders have been so enthralled they reminded me of my youngest sons, begging for another bedtime story." He chortled in the way of all proud fathers everywhere. Robert kept his serious-face in place, but his eyes twinkled. Aerith grinned outright.

As Albrecht swept his eyes over the rest of the guard, his eyebrows went up. "Ah! The new Archmagi. Let me see if I have it right...Archmagi Johnathon Hall, Phillip Cooper, and Colin Nelson, am I correct?" The three looked surprised and stammered a bit. Duncan shot them a quelling glower and they snapped their jaws shut, contenting themselves with nodding to confirm the identifications.

"And, hm..." Albrecht eyed Franklin with curiousity, furrowing his brow. "Oh dear, how embarrassing. I'm so terribly sorry sir, but I'm afraid I can't match your face...I realize it's terribly rude of me and I do apologize. Albrecht Löfgren sir. May I have the honor?" He bowed very slightly—more of a nod and a slight tilt of the torso—and held it while he waited for Franklin's response.

Franklin blushed and looked at Thomas for direction. Thomas just nodded his head toward Albrecht with a "well, go on then" expression.

"Guardian-Fourth Franklin Marsholm of White Falls, sir. An honor to meet you, sir." Franklin managed to stumble through the formula without actually stammering, blushing beet red all the way up to the tips of his ears.

Albrecht's smile got wider. "Ah! Such a pleasure. Thank you so much for your name, and I apologize again for the rudeness of my ignorance. I shall endeavor to be more courteous on our next meeting." He gave another small and polite bow before looking around at the tent behind me. In the shade beneath it perched an elaborately laid table, two chairs, and the very same cherrywood credenza from which I had eaten when I first arrived in the Work Room. It was laid with a sumptuous array of foods from fish to fowl to fine breads, with plenty of fruits, vegetables, and cheeses on the side (but, I was happy to have seen, none of that barnyardy cheese I had disliked so much).

Introductions done, I slid my arms through the gap between Thomas and Duncan and pushed them gently aside so that I could walk through and take Albrecht's hand. His bodyguard bristled. My bodyguard bristled. Looks were thrown like daggers in both directions, and they all leaned forward like the Sharks and the Jets gearing up for their big dance fight.

Albrecht and I ignored them, smiling happily at each other. He was smiling because he thought I was about to have Flobovia join with Anundjå. I was smiling because I was about to have Anundjå join with me. Well, that was part of it anyway. This was something of a "multiple birds, one stone" party.

I laid a hand on Albrecht's shoulder and turned towards the mountains. He casually raised a hand to prevent his bodyguard from taking my hand off at the shoulder and then turned with me, curious. As I planned, he faced his subordinates for a moment as he turned. Step one complete: I had gotten Albrecht to 'turn on his own people.'

"High Marshall—"

"Please! Do call me Albrecht. Titles get so formal, don't you think? Later on we can always lie and tell the chroniclers that we were terribly stuffy and proper throughout this entire discussion." He nudged me in the ribs and winked.

I laughed with genuine pleasure. I truly liked this man. "Of course, thank you. And please, call me Jake. Now, as I was saying _Albrecht_ , I have a lovely meal laid on for us, but I wanted to show you something before we sit down...oh, don't be surprised, there may be some noise." I looked over my shoulder and nodded to my chief protector. "Thomas, if you please."

Thomas tapped his gauntlet and whispered; a ghost-sparrow flew off, making a beeline for the tallest of the mountains in front of us.

o-o-o-o

Isaac Davidson, former Archmage of Flobovia, former member of the Conclave of Lords, was cold. Really cold. He hadn't expected to need Endure Elements today and hadn't had it memorized. The top of Mount Herabu was four feet deep in snow and the wind was howling. He huddled miserably in the lee of a rock, arms wrapped around himself, hoping that his ruler would not keep him waiting long. He kept a careful grip on the bag he had been given; it would not do to fail in this duty for something as stupid as losing the object he was to Polymorph. He had carefully tucked the scrap of paper inside the bag after memorizing the strange words written on it. He had no idea what they meant, but that didn't matter; they would suffice to collapse the field function and reify the effect of the mystic construct.

While he waited, he warmed himself with the memory of his ruler entrusting him—him!—with such a clearly important task, and saying that he was the only man for the job. _~No good for anything, am I, Father? Look at me now! High Archmage of Flobovia, Lord Mage of the Conclave of Lords!~_ (He carefully did not allow himself to think 'former High Archmage, former Lord Mage'.)

 _~Trusted with a task of critical importance by My Lord himself, a task that could win us the entire war!_ He smiled proudly through the cold and his chattering teeth. _~And what a Lord he is! That 'orbital strike' tactic of his was brilliant. Clearly, he had no stomach for it...I thought the lad was going to puke on his shoes after it went off, although he held it together well enough. I doubt that great oaf Frederick~_ (he snorted mentally in contempt) _~noticed anything. But we fixed Our Lord's weakness, didn't we? I convinced Reynard and Matthew of what needed to be done—I did, Father! Me! It was my idea!—and we slipped into his room and gave him the tools he'll need. We forged him like a sword, took out all the impurities and left him as the ideal leader that Flobovia needs in this, her darkest hour. Am I good enough for you now, old man?~_

His thoughts were interrupted—finally!—by the arrival of a tiny, ghostly bird. It flew up, hovered in front of him and spoke in Thomas's voice.

"Now."

Isaac surged to his feet, momentarily forgetting the cold in his excitement. This was it! His moment of triumph! The moment when he became a hero, when everyone finally recognized that his intelligence was just as important—more important!—than the bulging muscles and handsome faces of the other boys from his village. The moment when he proved that the son of a farmer could be just as important, just as worthwhile, as the Count's son in his big house up on the hill, with all his silks and horses and good looks that set the girls swooning.

He could have cast the spell while squatting down, sheltered from the wind, but no. This moment should happen on his feet, standing tall! He was changing history here, and he would do it proudly!

Gleefully, he set the bag on the ground, opening it to reveal the soccer-ball-sized rock inside. The arctic wind whipped his robes and beard around him as he straightened up, glancing once more at the paper even though the words were firmly engraved in his photographic memory.

"Polymorph Any Object: rock to six grams of antimatter osmium!"

o-o-o-o

Fifty miles away, Albrecht and I were carefully facing such that Mount Herabu was slightly behind us, out of the field of view. (I was, pardon the pun, attached to my eyeballs.) The moment after the would-have-burned-your-vision-out-if-you-were-looking-at-it flash went off, we turned to face its source...and watched the mushroom cloud climb slowly into the sky, revealing the big empty hole where the top of Mount Herabu—and, although we couldn't see it, former Archmage Isaac Davidson—completely ceased to be.

"And lo, I am become Death, Destroyer of Worlds," I whispered softly, and smiled as I marked off the first item on my todo list.


	28. chapter 28

_**Author's Note**_ _: Still don't own D &D._

* * *

For the first time since I had met him, Albrecht was completely speechless. He stood, slack jawed, staring at what used to be the conical shape of Mt Herabu and was now more reminiscent of a broken beer bottle. Behind, the Landguard and Albrecht's bodyguard did the exact same thing, enmity and professional paranoia forgotten in their mutual shock.

I turned to face Albrecht, moving slowly and smoothly so as not to jolt him out of his stupor. I looked at him with a small smile on my face, and I waited.

And waited.

A breeze went by, ruffling everyone's hair. The world was silent around us, all the animal life huddled in stillness and silence at the roar of the scary new predator that I had unleashed on the world.

Finally Albrecht shook himself like a dog shedding water and turned to face me.

"How...what...?" he stumbled.

I gave him my best shark-like grin. "Impressive, wasn't it? Of course, the truly impressive thing is that that was a _small_ blast. Had I put a little more power into it, we would have been vaporized where we stand, along with a good portion of the Senis Hills."

Albrecht glanced over his shoulder, eyeballing the miles between us and the vanished top of Mt Herabu. He turned back to me with a measuring glance.

"I see." He ran out of words and just stood, staring at me.

I could see that the shock was starting to wear off so I moved to get ahead of it. I needed him calm enough to interact but rattled enough to be compliant.

"But, that little demonstration isn't the important thing. The important thing is that there is a lovely meal waiting for us. Let's go eat; we can talk over food." With a gentle hand on his shoulder I turned him around and urged him forward with me as I started walking smoothly towards the tent. He came along, still slightly dazed. Dazed or not, his steps were firming up by the moment. A few paces from the tent he stepped away from me slightly, sliding out from under my guiding hand. I let him go and gestured for him to precede me into the tent.

As I moved to follow him Thomas, now having shaken off his own gobsmackedness, grabbed my arm with a no-nonsense grip. "You are not going in there. He's a mage and you just scared the daylights out of him. The logical thing for him to do would be to kill you and launch an immediate, simultaneous attack on every Flobovian city we still control. He's got to be smart enough to realize we wouldn't do...that," a vague gesture toward the missing mountaintop, "to our own people."

Ah, excellent. Thomas had chosen action #2 off my anticipated list. I'd give about a 9% probability to action #1—physically grabbing me and running for the hills while ignoring all orders to stop. My potential responses to that option varied between 'undesirable' and 'risky' so I was pleased that he'd chosen the next option.

I yanked my arm out of his hand; he held on for a moment to demonstrate that I wasn't going anywhere without his approval but then let me go. I let him have his sense of dominance; it would make him that much easier to manipulate if he thought he was in control. I needed him thinking about the present moment, reacting to my opposition, instead of thinking about the medium- to long-term.

I put on a frown and injected irritation into my tone. "Thomas, relax. He swore to maintain peace bond. He kept his promise about not moving his army during the week he gave us, there's no reason to believe he'll break it now. Especially since he doesn't know if I'm necessary to blow things up, or if there are others who could do it in the event that I died."

Thomas hesitated for a moment, then shook his head stubbornly. "No. I am not taking that chance. We're leaving. We can send an ambassador—a professional—to conduct negotiations. You're too valuable to risk."

I sighed. "Look. Right now he's off balance and he'll be easier to haggle with, especially since he won't want to piss me off. By the time we could get an ambassador prepped and over here, the shock will have worn off and he'll be harder to manage. We need to strike while the iron is hot."

Thomas frowned for a moment, lips moving as he puzzled through the meaning of 'strike while the iron is hot'. _~Note to self: translation magic still having problems with idioms. Speak more simply so as not to distract Paranoid Bodyguard #1 with irrelevancies.~_

He got it before I could clarify and shook his head, but with less certainty this time. "He's a powerful mage. If he decided to attack, you would be in serious danger. Especially with his bodyguard in the mix and the Archmagi getting into the fight, I'm not confident we could keep you safe."

I sighed. "Look, do your sword-tappy thing—then you can be sure there won't be any magic going on. But you and the others need to stay here at the door. I need him focused on me for this discussion, I can't have him being distracted by bodyguards. I'm pretty sure I can end this war right here, right now, as long as you give me some room to work."

Saying that Thomas didn't like this idea would be about like saying that the Pacific Ocean was an adequate tool for putting out a campfire: true, but it undershot the mark by about as much as it was possible to undershoot without actually shooting yourself in the leg. He practically quivered with his hatred of the idea...but he couldn't actually refute it. That whole 'but, the Land!' thing made it just too easy.

"Fine," he growled. "But we are one step outside the door, and the Archmagi are on the other side of the tent. If he so much as twitches in a way I don't like, every single one of us is through that door, we grab you like a sack of potatoes, cut our way out the back wall and teleport out of here before they know what hit them. And if he isn't fast enough getting out of my way, I'll cut him down before he can blink and to the Pit with the consequences. Clear?"

I nodded, forcing my face to look solemn. "Absolutely," I told him gravely. Inside I was giggling. He was just _precious_ , thinking that he had any control over this situation. Every step of the way, he had done exactly what I wanted him to do—admitting to the lie detector, agreeing to come to this parley because I could get Albrecht to 'turn on his own people', and now staying outside the tent with his anti-magic field engaged. Dance, puppet, dance!

I turned and paced into the tent to join Albrecht. Behind me I heard the _bong!_ that signaled magic being turned off around us. I smiled inwardly; Thomas might have taken my suggestion as a compromise and a sop to his paranoia, but he probably wasn't thinking about the fact that it also shut down his lie detector and any hearing-enhancing magic he might have. His overprotectiveness had just given me a chance to talk privately with Albrecht. I mean, _honestly_ —why else did he think I proposed it?

As I walked to my chair I heard a loud-voiced discussion break out behind me, Albrecht's bodyguard wanting to know what the noise and the energy wave were. I suspect the two sets of bodyguards were about ready to rumble but I didn't really care. I wasn't in the middle of it so I was in no immediate danger. Also, I was actually ok with a few Landguard getting killed—it would save me the trouble later. I was fairly confident that Albrecht wouldn't break his word, so I'd be leaving here alive and intact.

I took my seat with a smile, hitching the chair in and giving Albrecht a quick once over to see how to approach him. Good; he was calm enough to be thinking but still a little wary, unsure of what I had done outside. Perfect.

I glanced quickly over my shoulder to make sure that the Landguard had in fact stayed outside. The coast was clear so I took a roll and busied myself buttering it, my eyes focused carefully on the task.

"So far," I said calmly, not looking up, "I've shown you three of my tricks; the first took down a fifth of your army in a few seconds, the second turned the tide of the battle at the Plaza even though you outnumbered us and took us by surprise. The third...well, I chose not to use it on you this time, but you're smart enough to understand the potential, right?" I flicked my gaze to him, looking up at him from without raising my head, a small smile on my face. _~That's right, High Marshal. I'm so in control that I don't even feel the need to watch you for threats.~_

Albrecht smiled and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms on his chest and studying me frankly. _I know exactly what you're doing, and I'm not impressed,_ his body language told me.

"A very interesting trick, yes. Of course, we have a few of our own that you haven't seen yet."

I met his gaze directly, just a trace of amusement at the edges of my mouth. "Oh?" I inquired as I took a deliberate bite of my roll.

Albrecht snorted laughter. "Come on, Jake. We've been fighting for survival the last hundred and fifty years. Our opponents aren't brainless zombies; they're mostly intelligent monsters like vampires, wraiths...and we know for a fact that there are at least forty powerful lichs, maybe a lot more, acting as generals. In practically every battle we fight there are literally _millions_ of undead across the field from us. Yes, we developed a few tricks. And I haven't had to use any of them yet, because we outnumber you five to one and my Expeditionary Force has more magi than your entire country, and more than twenty times as many Archmagi. Unless you give me what I want, right here, right now, then the minute we leave here I'll put every soldier I have into a major Flobovian city. Your bombing tactics are powerful, but they cause a lot of...collateral damage, shall we say? How many citizens are you willing to sacrifice to get rid of us? How many will the Landguard _let_ you sacrifice?" He paused, taking a bite of the fruit compote in front of him.

Just as I opened my mouth to respond, he raised a finger and took control of the conversation again.

"And, oh yes, let's not forget—any of my troops who get killed, we resurrect them and they're back on the field in a few hours, a few days at most. Whereas, thanks to the...care...that your Archpriest takes for his people, any of your troops who are killed stay dead. You can't win this one, Jake."

He sniffed in amusement and made a throwing-away gesture with one hand. "But, I'm willing to let you surrender on terms instead of just conquering you and shipping you all off to the front lines. I've got better things to do than plod around in this backwater, so anything that gets this done faster is great. Personally, I can't wait to get back to Anundjå; I miss decent food and the theatre. Your arts are so primitive here."

I laughed at that, but cut it off quickly; it wouldn't do to be outright rude. "See, here's the thing, my friend. You're a High Marshal, a high ranking military officer. You don't get to that rank by catting around at the theatre and the fleshpots, you get there by fighting and winning battles. Lots of battles. So I'm pretty sure that you have no problem with field conditions. Also, you survived the orbital strike, which means you were in a dimensionally expanded tent. Now, it's possible that you happened to be in the tent of the magi when the bombs hit, but more likely you were in your own. And a dimensionally expanded tent can hold plenty of creature comforts, so I doubt you're all that uncomfortable."

A thought occurred and I grinned. "Plus, that mega Teleport trick of yours means that you can go home and spend every night with the wife and kids, then be back in time for reveille."

He smiled and nodded, a fencing master acknowledging a touch. The riposte came back immediately. "True. And it also means that I can bring in more troops at need. How would it work for you if tomorrow you were facing not a hundred thousand troops, but a million?"

I shook my head dismissively and took a helping of deviled eggs from one of the hot trays beside us. "I wouldn't like it at all. But you aren't going to do it. If you had the ability to swamp us with troops you would have done it after the orbital strikes. Instead, you came in and parleyed, deliberately enraged the Archpriest—who, by the way, is a complete prick, but I need him so I may have to play you up as the bad guy to him. Anyway, you hit the 'injured party filled with righteous indignation' thing pretty hard. And then you gave us a week's in-place peace to 'think it over.' That stand-down wasn't for us, it was for you. You've found what you're looking for and you wanted to be left alone to deal with it."

Albrecht's eyebrows went up at that. "You've had intelligence enhancement, haven't you?" he demanded.

Now it was my turn to let my eyebrows hit my hairline. "What makes you think that?"

He looked at me as though I were a promising student who had just failed an easy quiz. "Please. Give me some credit; I watched you during our earlier parley. You weren't stupid by any means, but you weren't making these kinds of deductions either."

I shrugged acknowledment and gave him the same 'touché' nod that he had given me. "The point still stands. What you've got here is all that you've got."

He sighed in disappointment and shook his head. "Clearly you had the enhancement very recently...earlier today is my guess, or _maybe_ late last night. You're doing well, but you're making all the usual mistakes—you're so caught up in how easy everything is to figure out that you're overconfident. You aren't allowing for unknown unknowns, and you're confusing intuitions with deductions."

He paused to pour himself some tea, politely offering to pour for me as well. When I declined with a shake of my head he took a long sip, letting his eyes fall shut in sensual enjoyment. After savoring the tea for a long moment he sighed and set the cup down, centering it very carefully on its saucer before he resumed.

"I could easily bring in a million troops, Jake. You're right, I couldn't do it by tomorrow, but I could do it within a few days. I'd have to go back to the Assembly and make the request, and it would cost me some embarrassment and some political capital. It would probably set me back on the promotion list by a few years, but I could do it."

I considered that for a moment, rattled. Was he telling the truth? If so, I had taken a severely wrong approach to this conversation. The thought froze my stomach, but I forced it aside. No good would come of getting flustered or retreating; all I could do was bull on through and hope. It was time to stop playing around; I had wanted to show off the superiority of our position and put him on the defensive before making my real proposal, but the longer we talked the more ground I was losing.

"Well, it sounds like we have what my world calls a 'Mexican standoff.' We've both got a weapon aimed at the other's head, and the question is 'how do we get out of this with all of us still alive?' Fortunately, I have a proposal."

He leaned forward, resting uniformed forearms on the table, eyebrows raised in interest. "Do tell," he invited.

I copied his body language, leaning in with folded arms on the table. "How would you like to have Flobovia as part of the Union?"

He frowned in puzzlement. "You're surrendering? Why all the dancing around then?"

I shook my head in refutation. "No, not surrendering. See, my goals have changed a bit in the last few hours. Turns out that my own Archmagi, in collusion with the Landguard, messed around inside my head and remodeled my values like an old kitchen, and I'm not real happy about that. So here's what I propose..."


	29. chapter 29

_**Author's Note**_ _: I own the story, not the game._

* * *

"My priorities are to get rid of the people who mucked with my brain and all of their families, keep Flobovia safe, and make sure that all of her people get access to your life extension technology—er, magic.

"My problems are the fact that the Archmagi and the Landguard don't want to be killed, the Landguard won't let me surrender on the terms that you previously offered, there's a lovely little civil war brewing up between my police force and every arcane caster in Flobovia, another one brewing between me personally and two thirds of the people in Flobovia because the Archpriest hates my guts and, oh by the way, he _really_ doesn't want you making his people immortal."

I paused to breathe. Albrecht leaned back in his chair, looking thoughtful and picking at his fruit compote.

"Sounds like you've had a busy week," he offered, nibbling a grape.

I made a moue. "You have _no idea,_ " I muttered, exasperated. _~Seriously, all I want is to be left alone so I can butcher a few thousand of my enemies. Is that_ _ **really**_ _so much to ask?~_

"Anyway, here's my thought. The Landguard's objection is that you want to take all of the Flobovian military out of the country and let them get killed fighting undead. Now—"

Albrecht interrupted, frowning thunderously. "Of _course_ we wouldn't let them die! That's the whole point! _We_ aren't the ones who let our populace be killed off by ridiculous things like disease and old age, that's you and your irresponsible cohorts!"

I raised my hands placatingly. "Hey, hey, relax. You're preaching to the choir here. I don't think death should be allowed either, but they haven't quite gotten past that whole 'getting wrinkly and sick and weak and then ceasing to exist is normal and therefore good!' foolishness. Honestly, it's ridiculous—by that argument they should never have touched that whole newfangled 'fire' business." I shook my head in disgust at the hypocrisy. At the same time, something pinged in the back of my head; there was something odd about the way Albrecht had said that. I'd recently become highly attuned to noticing that sense of wrongness, but I didn't have time to think about it just now. Instead I filed it away for future consideration and turned my focus back to the conversation.

Albrecht snorted and smiled slightly, his irritation allayed. He poured himself some more tea and again offered the pot. This time I took him up on it and spent a moment savoring the luscious, smoky flavor—it tasted like the smell of rich forest loam after a spring rain, earthy and clean and vibrant, with just the faintest trace of bitter to give it some kick. I smiled and sighed, feeling my shoulders relaxing as I let the aromatics roll around on my tongue.

"Allow me to rephrase," I told him. "The Landguard will not let me surrender on your previously stated terms because you said that you were going to take all the Flobovian military and deploy them against the drauga. Right?"

He nodded. "Yes, we find that the best way to rapidly integrate a new people into the Union is to exchange their combatants with ours. We capture the hearts of their troops by integrating them with the Legions where they form friendships and war-brother bonds. We capture the hearts of the civilians by enforcing strict discipline among the troops that guard them; we actually punish our troops more harshly for any given crime than we would punish a civilian for that crime. Pretty soon the civilians come to look at our troops as protectors and accept them. From there it doesn't take long before we start seeing troops and civilians getting married—in fact, we make it a point to post mostly unmarried troops to pacification assignments."

He paused and gave a slightly wavery smile, his eyes unfocussing as he looked off at a memory. "Pacification posts are considered plum assignments. You're pretty much guaranteed a bed, steady meals, and no undead horrors trying to eat your face. There's even a term for it—the troops call them 'sing and ring' assignments, because you sing with joy when you get them and there's a good chance that you'll end up with a wife. Our troops treat the townsfolk like holy treasures because the standard disciplinary action is to ship troublemakers back to the front and put someone else in their place."

Albrecht shrugged, the smile fading and his eyes coming back to the present. "Anyway, it typically doesn't take more than a decade or two, sometimes a lot less, before the citizens of a new member state stop thinking of themselves as 'whatever-ians' and start thinking of themselves as 'Anundjåns'."

I pondered that for a moment. "So, it's basically like ancient China. Invaders swept over them again and again, and after a few generations of interbreeding and integrating, the invaders were just more Chinese."

Albrecht cocked his head a little, considering that, then shrugged. "Something like that. Our definition of 'generation' is a little different than yours, of course. Typically, integration starts to get under way after about five years and after twenty or thirty it's pretty much done. After a century there's almost never an issue left, which is why we typically award full membership at that point. At that point it's safe to return the native troops from the front and to hand governance back to the locals. As a matter of policy we make sure that regional governors are not from the province that they govern—it prevents charges of favoritism. And when a state is given full membership we can't pull all their troops back immediately, of course, but we can at least give them home leave. Inasmuch as we can give any soldier home leave, of course. The demands of the war take precedence."

I nodded, more focused on my previously planned speech than on what Albrecht was saying. "Sure, seems reasonable. But here's the thing: the Landguard's oath to protect the Land—meaning the common citizens—means that they can't let you take Joe Random Militia Guy off to the war. And therefore they can't let _me_ surrender under the terms you gave earlier." I paused for a moment, wanting to hear his reaction. How much room did we have for negotiation here?

Albrecht frowned. "Exchange of troops is a core element of the Integration Act. I don't have the authority to promise that none of your troops will be transferred away. And if I did have the authority, I still wouldn't make that promise. We need troops at the front and we need for Flobovia to _not_ rebel as soon as we turn our backs. I suppose that I could stretch the rules a bit and rule that militia aren't actually a military force and therefore won't be drafted. But any full-time troops will have to go to the Legions."

I smiled. "Let's leave the Landguard for a moment; we'll get back to them. There's two issues that are keeping me from being able to surrender which, frankly, I really want to do. The first is the Landguard issue and the second is the religion issue. The Archpriest is going to hit the roof if Anundjån missionaries show up, set up shop in all of the cities, and push his church into the background. But!...what if that didn't happen?"

Albrecht looked puzzled for a moment and then his eyes widened and he started laughing. He laughed so hard he had to gasp for breath and wipe his eyes before he could talk again. "Oh, that's just _evil_. I love it. So the High Church sends missionaries over, but we build the temples, schools, and hospitals outside the cities—"

I was nodding furiously, leaning in with a huge smile. "—where he's got no right to say anything. Legally, Flobovia has religious freedom. As long as you don't claim that the so-called 'True Church' is false or abusive—"

"—then we are legally just one of the minor churches and he can't object to our presence. He'll preach against us, but since we offer youth and life—"

"—then people will be coming to you no matter what he says. A trickle at first, just to see if the rumors are real, but later it'll be a flood—"

"—and the more he preaches against us, the more curious people will get, and the more of them will come for rejuv. Some people may want to die and go on to the afterlife but most will want to spend a little more time with their grandkids, see their next kid get born, their son complete his journeyman test, finish bringing in the crops, and so on."

I was nodding furiously and grinning like a fool. "There'll always be a reason to stay alive just a little bit longer. In a couple of decades all the ones who want to die will have died—"

"—and the kids in the next generation will have grown up with the idea of eternal youth and life and it won't even occur to them that they should die. I love it!"

We grinned at each other like a pair of kids who had just plundered the cookie jar of every last crumb without getting caught.

Albrecht was the first one to pull back to practical matters. "What about the Landguard though? I really can't do anything about the troops, they need to be inducted to the Legions."

The look on my face was positively a leer. "Well, first of all, the Landguard have three duties. They serve the Land, the Law, and the ruler, _in that order._ I doubt that there's anything in the Writ that relates to this situation, but I'll check. That leaves the Land and the ruler. Taking those out of order, they will feel an obligation to protect me. So, we make it a condition of the surrender that I go to Anundjå and they'll therefore have to go with me."

Albrecht nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, I can work with that. We can find you a job as a strategist; that will allow them to stick close to you but still be attached to the Legions as foreign auxiliares, some of whom happen to never be tasked to front line duty. That will satisfy the letter of the law, if not the spirit. I assume they won't _all_ need to be glued to your elbow, right? Given they can fight, heal, and turn undead they are too valuable for us to leave them completely fallow."

I shook my head. "No, they'll be able to put a detail on me and send the rest out. Probably a pretty heavy detail since I'll be in a war zone and surrounded by people who were recently trying to kill me, but I'd imagine that I could loan you at very least a thousand of them, probably fifteen hundred, as well as a couple of our Archmagi...say, Reynard and Matthew? And if it just so happened that they all ended up unrecoverably dead in a heroic battle somewhere...well, I wouldn't cry over it."

He nodded slightly, taking my meaning: killing off the Landguard and the Archmagi was part of the deal. "What about their service to the Land, though? That's the primary thing keeping them from allowing the surrender in the first place."

I snickered slightly. "Well, the wording of that is very specific. They must protect the Land, meaning the common citizens of Flobovia, so they can't allow those citizens to be drafted into a foreign army and sent off to fight hordes of undead. But, interesting thing: 'The Land' refers to the _common_ citizens of Flobovia. It doesn't cover the Landguard themselves, or the nobles. And as it happens, the ruler has the power to ennoble anyone he wants to."

I suspect that Albrecht's peals of laughter were clearly audible back in Capital City.


	30. chapter 30

_**Author's Note**_ _: Still don't own D &D._

 _Also, kudos to Sengachi for being the only reviewer to predict what was going to happen to Jake._

* * *

Once he finally managed to stop laughing, Albrecht wiped his eyes and came back to the conversation.

"So that deals with your priorities and two of your problems. What about the other problems: the various civil wars you've got developing, and the Archpriest?"

I stumbled on that one. "To be honest, I haven't gotten that far yet. I was too focused on dealing with you. I worked all this out before I got here, but I didn't have time to get to the rest of it."

He smiled at me in a way that made me expect his next words to be 'Ah, grasshopper. Always, a wise man watches the flow of the river ahead, lest its power grind him into a gritty little meat paste.' Or something like that. I've never really gotten a good handle on that 'wise old master' stuff even though I had probably seen every ninja movie ever made—or, at least, I thought it was likely. Couldn't be sure, of course, until I undid this mind whammy, but it seemed like the sort of thing OriginalMe would go for.

"Well," I started. And then I stopped, because I had no clue how to finish the sentence. Instead of floundering around, I closed my eyes and turned inwards, starting to build a thoughtweb to analyze the issue.

And immediately discovered that my mind was _sluggish._

"What the hell?" I gasped, my eyes flying open in panic. "What's going on, why can't I think?! What's happening? I'm...I'm _stupid!_ " I wanted to scream, or run, or flail, but I couldn't move, frozen in place as though I'd been doused with liquid nitrogen. _Brain damaged. Drooling, mewling idiot forever. Cooked like a pot roast, just smart enough to realize you aren't very smart any more. The smooth, gliding flow of thought replaced by plodding through heavy mud that sucks you down, makes it a struggle to remember, to consider, to_ _ **think—**_

Albrecht raised a calming hand. "Relax, it's not permanent. We're inside an anti-magic zone, that's all. It's suppressing our intelligence boosting items, but they'll come back as soon as we leave the zone. I assumed you knew—I certainly felt it when your bodyguard put it up."

I was shaking, wired up by the enormous dose of adrenaline that my body had oh-so-helpfully dumped into my bloodstream so that I could better fight off or flee from the evil lion that it assumed was trying to eat me, except this wasn't the ancestral environment and there was no lion, there was only the panic and the mud and it wouldn't _go away_ , why wouldn't it go away, I needed to think, oh god please no, not this I couldn't go back to this please please please let Albrecht be right let this not be permanent please please please...

My panic must have shown on my face because he rose, came around the table, and pulled me to my feet. "Come on," he ordered kindly. "Let's step outside so Thomas and the others will feel safer about letting you outside the zone. Don't worry, it really will come back. And your reaction is perfectly normal...everyone feels this way the first few times they lose access to their enhancements. We actually have mandatory training classes on how to deal with it."

I swayed, unable to balance on my feet, and Albrecht steadied me with a hand on my bicep. As soon as I had my balance I turned to the door, ready to sprint outside in my desperate need to be myself again, the self that saw connections and analyzed problems with elegant grace and I needed that now, right now, no more waiting, need to get outside, need to gogogogogogogo...

Albrecht tugged my arm, spinning me in toward him and aborting my frenzied race for the door. "Calmly, Jake," he reproved me. "You may have lost some of your enhancement, but you're still intelligent. I know you feel as though you've just become the village idiot, but you haven't. You're just back to what you are naturally—possibly more than that if some of your enhancement was inherent instead of item-based. Now, use that natural brainpower and calm yourself."

I latched on to what he was saying, and sucked in several deep, slow breaths. When I had beaten the panic back a few paces I forced myself to run the times tables in my head, answer trivia questions mentally, relive several short memories.

The answer was reassuring: no, I wasn't brain damaged. In fact, the bonuses I had gotten from the Wishes were still there, as Albrecht had suggested they might be. I was substantially smarter than I had been when I arrived in Flobovia, I just wasn't as smart as I'd gotten used to being. The difference was like going from watching a movie on an IMAX screen to watching it on a 10" black and white TV...but it was a lot better than seeing no movie at all. (Hm. That analogy started off so well and then it got away from me there at the end. Perhaps the Wish-boosted state would be a regular movie screen and my unboosted state should be the TV? Except that was a pretty damning image to represent my original self who surely hadn't been _that_ dumb...maybe a 60" flat screen?)

I forcibly wrestled my train of thought off the useless siding that it had gotten stuck on and back to the main line.

Albrecht was watching me, nodding approvingly as I worked through all that. "Good. Now, we are going to walk outside, _calmly_ , and you are going to tell Thomas to take the suppression field down. Tell him that it's so I can send a message to my camp for some documents that we need. Don't let on that you are bothered by the suppression or you give the Landguard a weapon they can use against you."

I nodded dumbly, like a puppet with an unskilled hand on the strings, and turned for the door. Albrecht let go of my arm and paced alongside, carefully staying far enough away that the Landguard wouldn't decide he was threatening me and turn him into sashimi.

Stepping out of the dim interior of the tent into the bright sun left me shading my eyes and blinking frantically to clear the painful spots. When I could see again, the first thing that I saw was Thomas standing between me and Albrecht, glaring at the Anundjån general. Albrecht had stepped away from me and was standing with his hands in plain view, smiling non-threateningly.

"Relax, Thomas," I heard myself say. "We just needed to get outside the antimagic field so that Albrecht could get some things from his base. Drop the field, would you?"

He looked at Albrecht suspiciously, his face set in a mulish expression. I didn't say another word, just stared at him expectantly until he reluctantly turned to Aerith and nodded. A moment later, the now-familiar _bong!_ rang out and my brain spilled open once again into the glistening lightspeed crystal that it should be. I managed to stifle my sigh of relief, but I did sag a bit. I saw Thomas notice; his forehead wrinkled up in a thoughtful frown and I groaned mentally. So much for keeping the Landguard from picking up on the easy weaponizability of their antimagic field.

Fortunately, Albrecht came to my rescue, distracting Thomas before he could ask any awkward questions. "Won't be a moment, Jake, I just need to tell my base that we need the forms." Reaching behind himself, he pulled a small metal hoop from a pouch sewn to the inside of his tunic. Had I seen it in a blacksmith's shop, I wouldn't have looked twice—a metal hoop maybe eighteen inches across, apparently made of cast iron and about as thick as my pinky. Albrecht lowered it over his head like a crown, letting it drop all the way to his shoulders.

Now, I'm not an expert, but I'm pretty sure that when you put your head through a fun-sized hula hoop, your head is really supposed to come out the other side.

Ha ha ha. Ha. I'm such a funny guy, expecting simple things like "logic" and "reason" and "Euclidean geometry" to be on the job. But, nope, apparently they were all off at the beach, getting hammered on cheap tequila and ogling the girls. (Or, maybe the guys, who knows? I never had been quite certain about Geometry's orientation.)

Despite his current capital offense (ba-dum tish!) against logic, Albrecht's voice was perfectly clear. "Bruno, fetch me the Annexation papers and the Alliance papers, would you? We need to cover some of the options, so best to have both."

Albrecht lifted the hoop up and off; his head wrote itself back into existence in the wake of the thing's passage. When he was fully back in sight he looked around; he seemed surprised to find me, and the entire Landguard contingent, staring at him.

"What?" he demanded. "You've never seen someone ring their adjutant before?"

"...not so much, no," I admitted. The Landguard got over their shock and went back to their eyeball duel with Kadja's cohorts. So far it was anyone's fight, although in my opinion the Landguard were ahead on points...all four original members of Alpha Squad were just so friggin' _huge._

Albrecht almost managed to suppress his instinctive eyeroll at our backwardness, but his voice was perfectly polite as he explained. "It's called a ring gate. Dead handy. They come in pairs, and the two rings are mathematically the same point; anything that goes in one gate comes out the other, and vice versa. Great way to send a message—you just stick your head through and tell the person what you want. And, of course, you can store things near one ring and reach in to get them from the other. Whenever I go to a state function I like to keep one ring in my closet. That way, if someone accidentally spills wine on me, I can grab a fresh shirt right away."

I'm sure the sartorial applications of instantaneous wormhole transits were thrilling, but it was the economic and military applications that excited me. Instantaneous messaging. Instantaneous transport of goods. The ability to shoot spells or arrows through them. The possibility of portal cuts. Trivial railgun development by dropping something through the vertically-aligned gates, then flipping one gate to the side to fire. And, speaking of guns, the hoop was eighteen inches across and my cannon were only seven...yeah, there were some possibilities here.

"What's the range?" I inquired, working hard to sound casual.

Albrecht shrugged. "I've never measured it exactly. I think my camp is about twenty miles away, though."

"Can you make them bigger? You could use them for transport, drive wagons of stuff through them, all kinds of things. How many are there?"

He shrugged again. "I have no idea. A lot, though. We use them for basic communications, message passing, small object transport...all kinds of things. And no, they're all this size. Don't ask why there aren't any bigger or smaller ones—I'm not a theoretician."

Just as I was opening my mouth to ask the next flurry of questions, a disembodied hand pushed out through ring, clasping a stack of papers tightly. "Here you go, Sir. Also, there's two copies of each in case you need them."

Albrecht thanked the person on the other side of the ring as I turned to my bodyguards. "Thomas, leave the field down; Albrecht might need to get more documents." I held up a hand before he could finish opening his mouth to object. "I know, I know. But he's really not a threat, are you Albrecht?"

The jolly little general smiled a great big friendly grin. "No, of course not. If I wanted you dead, I wouldn't have used magic—the Landguard were watching for that. No, I would have just kicked you under the table with this," he said gesturing to his right boot, which suddenly sprouted a three inch stiletto. "The venom is toxic enough that you'd have been dead before you hit the table. And the Landguard would have died the same round."

The Landguard were suddenly looking very tense; between one blink and the next they were in 'Back-to-Back-Badass' position around me, blades out.

Keeping his eyes on Thomas, Albrecht waved off his bodyguard. "Pull back, Kadja. It's time for us to establish our bona fides with Thomas and the others."

Kadja made a noise that I was pretty sure translated as _Hey boss, I totally hate this idea and I am going to make your life a living hell for forcing me to do it. Also, you're a jerk. kthxbai!_ Regardless, she and her Squad of Superlethality stepped back, leaving Albrecht unprotected and only a few steps away from a very calm-lacking group of Landguard.

Totally unconcerned, Albrecht toed off his boots and paced slowly forward, his hands in full sight and a relaxed smile on his face. Thomas shifted his weight slightly forward and his knuckles whitened slightly where he gripped his blades, but his expression never changed.

Albrecht paced right up to us and carefully settled to the ground, sitting Indian style literally under Thomas's swords. The whole time, he maintained calm eye contact with the most lethal man I knew and kept on smiling.

"Commander, I swear on my honor and on my love for my nation that I have no intention of harming you, your Lord, or anyone else so long as we remain under flag of truce. Now, with your permission, allow me to explain how I _would_ have done it, had I so desired. It is my hope that, if I show you how easily I could have killed you all, you will believe me when I tell you that I don't intend to kill you all. I truly wish to negotiate in good faith and hopefully create an alliance between our nations, if not a merger."

Albrecht _actually paused_ until Thomas nodded permission. Talk about ice cold.

Albrecht accepted the permission with a graceful nod of his own and then—slowly and carefully so as not to cause alarm—he put his hands behind himself and leaned casually back on them.

"First of all, let's set a baseline. My name is Albrecht Löfgren and I am a High Marshal of Anundjå. I am currently wearing purple boots with lime green tassels," he said, waggling his bare feet to and fro. After this odd statement, he paused expectantly.

Thomas didn't so much as blink.

After a moment, Albrecht sighed in disappointment. "What, nothing? I would have thought you'd be happy to know that I'm not using any divination protection and you can detect when I tell the truth." He paused again, but eventually gave up on waiting for a reaction and just shrugged.

"In any case. As I already said, I would have taken Jake out with the toe dagger. After that, all I needed to do was call out the attack order. You and the other Landguard would have been targeted by a large number of Mage's Disjunction spells, which would have brought down your Anti-Magic Field. As far as I know, Flobovia doesn't have Mage's Disjunction; you've simply had no reason to create such a thing. To you, magic is a means of production, of creation, and there's no reason to want to destroy it en masse. To us, magic is a means of survival. We had to create this spell because some of the drauga are spellcasters and they have entirely too much fondness for AM Fields and Walls of Force as battlefield control, and those spells can't be brought down with a simple Dispel Magic." He sighed, looking at a sad memory off in the distance.

Eventually he shook the memory off and continued. "It's not perfect, of course, but statistically there was a ninety six percent chance that you would have your AM Field and all your other active spells destroyed. Most likely, all of your magic items would also have been rendered mundane." He shrugged apologetically. Duncan was looming like a thundercloud, but Thomas was still completely impassive.

"Your items wouldn't make any difference one way or the other. The moment your AM Field was destroyed, you would all have been cut down. If you will observe the trees over there, I will provide a demonstration. Alvis, proceed." For the last he raised his voice, turning his head millimetrically to speak over his shoulder without looking away from Thomas.

One of Albrecht's bodyguards pulled another ring gate out of his tunic and said something into it that I didn't hear. A moment later he flipped the ring so that it faced the trees and swept it casually from right to left.

Every single tree in the forest fell down as though sheared in half by a laser.

From over a mile away. With no sign of a laser.

Dead silence fell. The Anundjås were smiling grimly, even smirking. The Landguard, the Archmagi, and I...we were just staring, listening to our paradigms shifting without a clutch.

Albrecht smiled a little sadly. "And now _I_ am become Death, Destroyer of Worlds," he whispered softly. "You see...it cuts through cities too."


End file.
